Burned
by OddCoupler222
Summary: Peeta Mellark thought the worst was over, but with the new Quarter Quell rules, he knows it's just the beginning. This time he's not a scared boy in love - he's burning with rejection and the need to protect the girl he loves. Catching Fire in Peeta's pov
1. Brotherly Love

The Victory Tour is here. In only hours, it'll be time to leave behind District Twelve. Time to leave District Twelve, with Katniss. Katniss. Just the name entering my thoughts makes my heart thump and memories, both good and bad, surface.

"Peeta! My brother, my friend. The bread of my life!" My brother Lucern exclaims from the doorway of the kitchen of the bakery, drawing me from my thoughts, and stopping me from dwelling even longer on them.

I can't help but laugh at him, "The bread of your life? What does that even mean?"

He walks closer, "You know… you… nourish me with your brotherly love the same way bread… okay, I don't really know where I was going with that."

Still chuckling, I continue to package the loaves of bread I've just baked. "What can I do you for, Luc?"

He braces his hands on my shoulders, and I can tell from the way he's patting them that he wants something. "You see Peeta… is it in any way possible for you to tell mom I need to take a half day today, to help you get ready for your tour?"

I wasn't exactly expecting that, but it's not something I wouldn't believe Lucern to ask. But I'd rather know the reason before I agree, "Why?"

He throws his arms in the air, looking exasperated. I can't stop the smile that edges up onto my face. Then he fiddles with some of the leftover dough that hasn't been thrown out yet before looking over his shoulder and lowering his voice, "Mom is crazy. She schedules me for full hours every single day. Every day! I mean, yeah, I'm nineteen now and I have to work full-time, but damn. I think everyone deserves at least some time off."

I already know I'm going to get him off early, but I keep my face stern as I say, "Lucern Mellark, you lazy slob of a human being. Sitting here, complaining about your job, when over half the people in this district would do anything to be able to find full time, steady work in this bakery. You pig!"

We both chuckle and he wipes his hands on the apron he's wearing, "So… you'll do it? I mean, it is partially your fault. When you were gone, mom got used to seeing my lovely face around here more often than yours, and she hasn't adapted back to her old ways."

"Sure, I'll do it. I don't know if she'll actually let you beg off early, but I'll try." I tell him, and he grins excitedly at me before walking back into the front room of the bakery.

_When you were gone_. That's how my entire family refers to the time I spent in the Hunger Games, when they refer to it at all. I'm not sure if I like the fact that they don't remind me of it or not. Because while it was the worst part of my life, it was still the best. After weeks of reflecting upon everything that happened, I kept coming back to the same conclusion. Even though it ended badly, it was still amazing while it lasted. Nothing was fake for me.

I finish my packaging, and methodically stack all of the loaves on the storage shelves for my father to take out to the kitchen when the supply we have out there now dwindles. I quickly wipe up the counter and pull off my apron, making my way into the front store, where my mother is sweeping and Lucern is standing behind the counter. He sees me and gives me a thumbs-up behind my mother's back quickly before looking back at the cash register.

Clearing my throat, I say, "Mom?" When her sweeping slows and she turns to look at me, eyebrow raised, I ask, "Would it be possible for Lucern here to help me prepare for my Victory Tour? I'm really swamped for things to take care of up at the house before it's time to go."

Her eyes narrow, first at me, and then they travel to my brother, who is spending an abnormal amount of energy _trying_ to look normal. Which just makes this that much more out of the ordinary. Our mother's face is stern, "Oh, and Lucern is going to go help you with chores?"

I nod, "Absolutely."

She checks the clock we have hanging behind the counter, "It seems to me that Lucern's shift is only half over for today, and you still have a little while before you'll be leaving. He can stay here while you go."

I turn and look at my brother, shrugging, and his eyes are desperately begging me to just try a little harder, so I sigh and turn back around, "Please mom, I try not to ask for much around here. I'm going to be gone for a while, and it would be really nice to have some more time with Lucern before I head out."

My mom practically growls her annoyance. In my life I have very rarely pressed her after she'd made a decision regarding… anything. And normally when I did, I got a beating for it. But my mother has been very beating-light ever since I got back. She starts sweeping with renewed vigor and says, "Fine, take him. That lazy pig was hardly doing anything, anyway."

Lucern's eyes are lit up, and he takes off his apron as well, going in back to hang it up. I go behind the counter and take two loaves of bread, and open the cash register and pay as though I were taking five loaves. I never just take any baked goods from the bakery now, because I feel incredibly guilty having so much money at my disposal while my family doesn't. Of course, they aren't poor, but, like nearly everyone here in town, they could do with some more funding to support them.

I offered my parents, together, enough money to keep them living comfortably without the bakery. It was one of the first things I did when I got back. They stood together, firmly telling me they didn't want my money. A week later, I offered it to my father, separately from my mother. "You know that even with the bakery it would be nice to have a cushion. If you took it, you'd never have to work again." I had said to him. I was desperate for my family to take my winnings, even a small part.

But he refused, his eyes, as always, were gentle but firm as he said, "Peeta, you have a giving heart. But I can't take that money when it doesn't belong to me. It's yours. You earned it, you keep it. And you know I love the bakery."

"For what? I'm never going to need this much money in my whole life." The money sat like a lead weight sitting on my chest.

"Then do something with it. Give it to someone who needs it." And that was the end of our conversation.

Then I offered it to my mother, separate from my father. I knew her heart isn't in this bakery, not like my father's. But she resolutely wouldn't take it, and all she would vehemently tell me was, "A parent provides for the child, not the other way around. Now get out of my way."

That was the end of that. But I can't live with myself knowing I have so much money while my parents work themselves to the bone every day and don't even have a fraction of what I have, so I've come up with ways to slip them money without them realizing it. Like giving them extra cash when I purchase something here. Or, if I see one of their jackets or a pair of pants laying around whenever I'm upstairs in the old apartment, I put some money in the pockets.

Lucern comes back out to where I am, his jacket on and he's already buttoning it up as he says, "Let's hit the road, bro." By the time we reach the door, both of us have our coats completely closed, and our faces are buried in them, up to the nose, as the snow outside is already swirling.

We leave, and start to make our way to the new house in Victor's Village. That's another thing – not only did I have this surplus of money at my disposal, I had this huge house. Naturally, I'd thought my family would move in with me. But Thyler, who worked full shifts at the bakery still and his wife, Hailey, who has a hefty sum of money herself because of her family, and they live together in a fairly nice house. And my parents both refused to leave the apartment on top of the bakery, saying it's their home and they don't want to leave. The only person I could convince to live with me there is Lucern.

For the first month after I came back, nothing was the same between us. It wasn't the same between me and anyone in my family. They walked on eggshells around me, like I needed to be protected from something. I wasn't one to miss the irony – after I'd survived an ordeal like the Hunger Games, probably to most difficult thing anyone in this lifetime might have to do, I was treated like glass. Gradually, after I joked with them and behaved the way I always had, things got back to normal.

Well, as normal as things could be after everything that happened. Because even I recognized the change. It wasn't everyone else – it was me. I had seen death. I nearly experienced it myself, hell, I was missing a limb. I'd looked into the depths of humanity, and I didn't like what I saw. And, even more than that. I wasn't Peeta, who had a love puppy crush. I was Peeta, who was drowning in heartache.

But that time in my life is over. Even if I didn't want it to end, it had to. Because the forlorn creature I'd turned into wasn't someone I recognized when I looked into the mirror. I wasn't someone I liked – someone who looked at Katniss and felt sick with sadness. So I adjusted. I became the old Peeta I liked. Only better. Peeta 2.0, as I sometimes like to call myself.

"Man, you have to tell me about all of the districts when you get back, like everything you see." Lucern is telling me as we start up the path to the Village. While he was in school, Lucern brought back, at best, mediocre grades. Teachers, pretty much everyone, really, wrote him off as just some lazy merchant kid who could skate by in life. And generally, they're right. But he did always have one curiosity: other districts. He'd always been fascinated by everywhere but here.

"I will." I promise him. I've never have that same obsession with the other districts, but I have a good memory, and I know I'll be able to tell him whatever he wants to know.

By the time we reach the houses, I have a good amount of time to go make sure Haymitch is up and ready for the beginning of our Victory Tour. I part with Luc, and make my way up to his house, preparing myself for the stench of … I don't even want to think about it, that I know will be festering around there. The front door is open, but I don't find it strange – there are many days that I've let myself into Haymitch's home, and found that he left the most bizarre things running, and leaving a door open is at the bottom of the "that's really strange" list.

But as I draw closer, I hear a voice say, "… you should have asked Peeta." A familiar voice. The voice that both elates and haunts my dreams. The voice that still makes my nerve endings tingle.

Making my presence known, I say, "Asked me what?"

Katniss' back is to me, but she noticeably stiffens up. As she does, guilt gnaws on my stomach. My fault. It's my fault she gets like this around me. I drop my eyes from her back, and make my way over to the table, setting the bread down. I don't want to just rip off the end and hand it to him, and I hold my hand out, waiting for Haymitch to hand me his knife so I can cut off the heel for him. Amidst the grime and the mess in this house, even though we're in the kitchen, I doubt I could find any other knife except for the one Haymitch keeps on his person. He hands it over as he gruffly answers my question, "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia."

It's only then that I notice the empty coffee can in Katniss' hand and the fact that Haymitch is soaked with water. A smile creeps up on my face. She's so feisty; it's one of the things I love most about her. I try to hide my smile – I've come to realize that my smiling too often seems to make her uncomfortable – and duck down to grab some alcohol I can use to sanitize Haymitch's knife.

I quickly clean it, then cut off the end of the bread – Haymitch's favorite part – and give it to him. My eyes seek out Katniss of their own volition, drinking her in, as I ask, "Would you like a piece?"

Her voice has the same rigid tone that her body is giving off as she declines, adding on an extremely forced, "But thank you," at the end. She doesn't want the bread from me. Can I really blame her? She detests running into me, and I know it, and here I am, ruining her morning. It's unintentional on my part, but I'm still doing it.

The guilt that the knowledge brings makes my voice sound exactly like hers as I say back, "You're welcome." But on the inside I'm screaming _why are we like this?_ But I know why.

In the first few weeks, when the camera crews were still here, when I loved her and she was still pretending to love me… I'm not proud of the way I felt. Angry, sad, lifeless. Just seeing her, day after day, it hurt. But while it hurt because I felt betrayed, I also hurt just because I missed her. I was rude to her then, and I held everything against her. I shouldn't have – she was just saving her life, which was exactly what I'd wanted. She didn't deserve my anger. I was a jerk, and now I have to pay the consequences.

Haymitch's voice cuts into my thoughts, "Brrr. You two have a lot of warming up to do before showtime."

Showtime. I've been dreading and anticipating it for months. Showtime is when Katniss and I will pretend to be in love again. I'm dreading it because I don't know how much of her fake love I can stand when the love I have for her is still so terrifyingly real. But I'm anticipating it because even though the warmth and affection are fake on her part, I just long to have her be with me and not absolutely dislike me, like she does now.

All Katniss says in response is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Which, while he really needs to, makes me snicker, and she does one of her Katniss tricks that always amazes me when it happens – she swings out the window, just like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're in love with a bizarre broad." Haymitch tells me, as if I didn't already know. "And you two better get your shit together before this afternoon comes, and all of Panem sees you two together. Although, I doubt I need to be telling you this. You're going to do it anyway."

"Yes, I am." I say quietly. I check my watch and note the time, and that I should probably get back to my own house so I can pick up and prepare for my prep team and Portia. "I have to go. Eat some more bread… and really, you do need to take a bath."

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	2. Paint and Blood Money

I open the door to my house and kick off my boots at the front door out of habit. Who knows if I would do that if I wasn't raised by my mother who, if you got snow in her house, she'd have beat you with whatever object was close by. Obviously, the mother training has worn off from Lucern as there are tracks of snow, some still frozen and some melted, going to the living room.

I shut the door and walk down the hall, to the living area, calling out, "You're already doing a terrible job on those chores you wanted to help with."

As I walk closer, I hear the unmistakable chainsaw-like sound of snoring. Going into the living room, I see Lucern sprawled on the couch, sleeping like the dead. His coat is still on, which means all of the snow that had been on it is now on the couch, and his wet boots sit, kicked off, at the end of the couch. I got him off work so he could sleep. Oh, well. The guy loves his sleeping, and over the past few months, he's had early shifts nearly every day.

I walk over and pick up his boots, then bring them to the mat I have near the front door, specifically for people's shoes. This house is so big that Lucern and I both have our own bedrooms, and still have three to spare. I have to admit, after sharing a room with the guy for me whole life, I kind of miss always having him there. But I definitely do not miss that snoring.

I make my way upstairs, intending to head to the bathroom to take a bath and get ready, as I know my prep team, Ravilla and Leontius, will be here soon. Instead, I find myself opening the door to my studio. I'll admit, it embarrasses me to call it that, because I've always been so secretive about my artwork, and now here I am with a whole room of easels and canvases and all different colors of paint anyone could imagine. Looking around at all my paintings, I know there is no other word for it.

This is my favorite room in the whole house. The walls are plastered with the paintings I've done since I got back, paintings of all different sizes, of all different images. I have some of my family, both altogether and separate. I painted Thyler and Hailey, Lucern sleeping, my father baking, my mother exactly the way she looks in the middle of a screaming battle. But they only take up a tiny portion of this huge room.

Another small corner is paintings of familiar places. The bakery, where I've spent so much time of my life, both in the kitchen and the storefront. A few of the apartment I grew up in, one of the school, two of town square, and one of the way the Seam looks from the outside, from town; from my view point.

And then there is the rest of the room. Katniss. Some are of her face, some of her whole body, some of just her eyes or her hands or her hair. The Arena. Some are of events, like my digging for roots or picking berries, and others are of images, stuck in my mind. The mutts, the cave, the other tributes. But regardless of what anyone else might see when they look at them, anything from the Hunger Games, to me, is Katniss.

I turn away from the paintings. I don't know why I came in here in the first place. I don't have enough time to start anything new or finish anything old. Plus, every time I come in here, all I think of is Katniss. I just can't help it. She's all around me in this room. That's probably part of the reason why I like it so much in here. But I really need to stop doing this to myself. So I leave the room, and I'm not sure if the decisive _snap_ it makes as it closes is satisfying or hurtful.

Going to the bathroom, I close the door and fill the tub as I peel off all of my clothes. It's weird having all of this access to warm water. At the bakery, we have hot water available on the tap, but we couldn't use it whenever we wanted. Most of it was reserved for doing dishes downstairs, and if there was any hot water left for bathing, there was always a battle for it. But here, in this new house, it's unlimited. Probably one of my other favorite things about living here.

I climb into the tub after it's full of the hot, steaming water, and relax my head against the high backed curve, letting out an audible sigh. So comfortable. The bath always seems to be more relaxing when I'm tired, which I am now. I hardly ever get any sleep anymore – a few hours per night, and even that is interrupted every hour and a half or so. I close my eyes and dip down. You have to get ready soon, my mind reminds me, but I just tell myself that I can afford a few minutes to relax.

And the next thing I know, I'm back in the Games. I'm in the cave, the one I thought was a cave where dreams and love come alive, but it was really just a cave of deceptions that I let myself believe. And Katniss isn't here. She's missing, and there's a tearing feeling in my gut that just tells me that I'm too late, and something bad has already happened. I try to stand, but fall back down at every attempt, because my leg is shot and won't support my weight. I scream her name, again and again, and then her screams reach my ears. I don't know where she is out there, but I have to go help her.

My heart is pounding and terror is filling me and I try to drag myself up. I have to get to her. I have to help her. And just like that her screams are gone, and now I know that is even worse than how she was feeling before. "No!" The word breaks from my lips, and my eyes open as I sit up rapidly water sloshes over the edges of the tub.

I rub the water out of my eyes, and then rest my hand on my chest, over my heat that's still pounding like a jackhammer. It was just one of those dreams. Katniss is okay. We both survived and she is, at this moment, only two houses away. Safe and sound. With a deep breath, my heart rate slows and with a deep breath I go back to bathing myself.

It doesn't take long before I'm done and I climb out of the tub, using one of these overly fluffy towels that came with this pre-furnished house. These towels must have cost a fortune, but with this life now, money hardly means a thing. All this money. There really is just too much of it. I'm never ever going to need all of it, and, frankly, having all of it to myself makes me feel like I'm a bad person. Yeah, I have that money and how did I get it? Did I earn it by working hard and saving? No. I got it because twenty two other people died so I could live.

They flash before my eyes, the faces of those that I can remember – the Careers I had teamed up with however briefly. The foxface girl I … I killed. The poor, poor girl whose name I never learned, but whose hand I held as she died. Fletch, the only real friend I made. Little Rue, who died in Katniss' arms, and Thresh, who was more honorable than anyone, I think. Then my mind fills in the blank spaces of those that I don't remember. The fact that I met them, I trained with them, and I went through a life changing experience like the Hunger Games with them, and yet I can't remember their distinctive faces shames me.

I shake my head, damp hair throwing droplets of water around like a wet dog, as though that can force the thoughts from my head. But I can't. This house, these things… everything I am these days, everywhere I go reminds me of the blood money I have from those games. Because that's just what it is – blood money.

After I got back from the Games, after my parents and brothers all refused to share in my winnings, aside from an occasional money borrowing from Lucern, the fact that I had so much money kept me up at night. So much money, when there were so many other people in my own district who suffered. It wasn't until I did my painting of the haggard District Twelve school that I realized what I could do with at least some of it.

That day, I sat outside and painted for hours, and I received some of the strangest looks from some of the kids who came out. Kids both from town and the Seam, who had never even seen someone use real quality paints or a canvas before in their lives. And that's when it hit me – the school was in desperate need of money. Back in the beginning of school years, before kids reach age ten, there is an option of music class. But as soon as the kids hit middle school, that option is completely out of the question.

And forget art classes altogether. At least for music class for the kids they don't need any supplies to sing their songs. There isn't enough extra paper and pencils to be used in District Twelve to supply for even a mediocre art class, and that's not even talking about paint, real drawing paper, crayons or markers. Most of the kids in this district have never even used real markers before. Art gets shoved into the back of everyone's mind here, like it's not important at all. But it is. The beautiful things _are_ important.

So that's why, when the high school gets let out early on Fridays, instead of going home or working in the bakery, I go to the wing of the school with the younger kids and give everyone art supplies to use, and try to teach them different techniques. The teachers had been a bit wary at first, and I understand why – it's difficult enough to get in their regular lesson every day when every kid shares their science, math, history, writing, and geography books with at least three other kids. Sometimes, in the more packed classes, there are four or five to a book. And the books aren't that great in the first place – all of them have broken bindings, missing covers, and are doodled and written in from years of use.

Now, not only do I fund and teach the only art class the schools offer, I also give the school the money it needs to buy new books. Enough so that every kids in the smaller classes has his or her own book, and in the bigger classes, there's one new book per every two kids. And I'd be lying if I tried to say that seeing the teacher's relief and gratitude, and the kids' pure shock and wonder at having something actually _new_ belong to them didn't fill me up with pleasure.

And even then, after all of the school funding, the blood money still weighed down on me. _Does_ weigh down on me. The burden is lighter, that's for sure, but it's still there. And then I got my second idea of what to do with the money. It happened after I had one of the dreams, a dream I've had for years, the one of Katniss when she came to the bakery, starving – just bones being barely held in by skin, when the bread that I gave her saved her life.

I told her once in that cave… in _our_ cave, as I still think of it, that I would do the same thing for anyone because it is just the right thing to do. And it made me realize – now I had the means to help everyone who couldn't help themselves. I could help everyone in the Seam, everyone who was starving, because to me, they were all Katniss all those years ago – strong and independent, but starving.

The question came to be how could I help people from the Seam? During the Games, one of the few times I'd felt remotely upset with Katniss, was when she insisted that I wouldn't understand the pride people who lived in the Seam felt about being given anything – even if I personally didn't think it was a big deal, to them it was. So I took a few different approaches. The first being to bring money with me when I teach the art class, and just slip it into the knapsacks the children, both from town and the Seam, bring with them. Hopefully they'll share it with their other family members, but if not, it's still going to help them survive.

The other measure I use is…. decidedly more creepy. But I prefer to think of it as helpful rather than weird. Early in the morning, right after dawn, right after the miners set out to go to their jobs and before the kids go to school, I take coins and put them in various places around the neighborhood. Some on doorsteps, some on the sidewalks, some placed right next to mailboxes… I've never seen people come out and find the money, but every time I go back to put more money there, the old money is always gone, so I assume they find it. And I hope it serves to make a difference.

I haven't changed into my clothes yet, just a towel being held at my waist as I leave the bathroom and head back to my bedroom. But I pause when I pass the staircase. Because I hear voices coming from downstairs, voices that are very familiar. Voices that belong to my prep team. Here it all goes again.

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	3. Prepared

My first instinct is to go where I originally intended – my bedroom – to get dressed. But I stop myself, thinking it's going to be useless. If I know my prep team, Leontius and Ravilla – and I do – they're going to strip me naked and look me up and down, checking my body mass and muscle tone anyway. So I just cinch the towel around my waist and make my way down the stairs.

They're in the living room, with backs are to me when I reach the doorway. There's Leontius, the first to be recognized, with his dyed blue skin, and Ravilla, who I recognize because of her tiny stature, even though her hair color, which was green before, is now purple. But there's a third person, another woman, who I don't recognize at all. She has tattoos of leaves going up and down her exposed arms, and the way she's speaking makes me have no doubt left in my mind that she's from the Capitol, but I've never seen her before.

The three of them are fawning over Lucern, who is now awake, and looking confused. I'm certain he must have been frightened when he woke up and saw these people, who look terrifyingly out of place when not in the Capitol, standing over him. They're asking him questions, and I catch a few – is this hair color natural in your family? How often do you work out? What is it, exactly, that you do for a living? How old are you? Why are you in Peeta's house? He answers them calmly, slowly, but I can tell he's uncomfortable being with them.

I clear my throat, "It's nice to see you all."

They turn around, and Ravilla is the first to see me, "Oh, Peeta!" She claps her hands together and comes running toward me, quickly followed by Leontius and then that other woman.

Leontius nods at me, and I see that the heavy makeup he wore before I went into the Games still hasn't gone out of style. "Look at this muscle mass you've built up since the arena. I'm so glad!"

I look down at myself, half expecting to see the skinny, barely recognizable boy I was only a few months ago. I've slowly but steadily put weight back on, both from lifting bags of flour and other items at the bakery and just by having a regular diet again. I look back up at Leontius, "Well, I had to give you something to work with, didn't I?"

Ravilla is still clapping, "You look so good. This is so exciting." Then her smile dims, "But… you've already bathed. Why would you do that?"

The tone in her voice suggests that it's really a crazy notion that I would bathe without seeing them first. But I get it – as my prep team, whenever they're with me, they are the ones who fill my tub, who select the soap and shampoo, and scrub me until my skin is raw. To be honest, now that I think about it, I don't know why I took a bath before they arrived. "I'm sorry, I forgot." I look at the big black suitcase in Leontius' hand and I know that it's filled with all of their different beauty products, and I genuinely feel bad that I didn't think ahead, "How about we go back upstairs and I'll retake my bath?"

At my suggestion, they brighten, and nod. They nod and walk by me, heading for the stairs, but before I follow them, I stop the third lady, and hold out my hand, "Hi, I'm Peeta."

Her face immediately brightens as she takes my hand and shakes it vigorously, "I'm Talia, it is _so_ good to meet you." Talia and I walk behind Leontius and Ravilla up the stairs, and she explains why she's here. "See, normally, I would have been a part of your prep team for the Hunger Games. After all, every tribute is supposed to have their own stylist and a prep team with three members. But at the last minute, there was a problem with the District Four prep team, and it left them with only two people, and, as you well know, District Four ranks high above District Twelve in terms of… well, everything, so it left you shorthanded."

I don't take offense at her words, about how District Twelve is the last to be thought of in everyone's minds, because not only is it true, but I know it really doesn't occur to her to think of how her words might be taken as an insult. She's still talking, and I tune back in just in time for her to finish by saying brightly, "But, it clearly didn't affect you too much. I mean, you won!"

"Exactly." And I want to end the conversation here. I mean, I don't want to be rude, but a part of me is screaming _the fact that I won has nothing to do with the amount of people on my prep team!_ But I could never say that to someone, especially someone like Talia. Though I don't know her, I assume she's just like Ravilla and Leontius, both of whom would be crushed if I ever said that to either of them.

Only moments later, they have me in the tub again, and they're doing their thing – which primarily means scrubbing off one or two layers of skin to make me look all new. While they do it, they ask questions. Ravilla asks, "How's Katniss?"

Of course, I don't really know the answer to this – I avoid her as much as possible because I know she doesn't want me near her. But no one from the Capitol is allowed to even have an idea about that, so I give them the answer they want. "She's great. Her and her sister and mother, they all love living in their new house." Which, I'm sure, is a lie. If _I_ hate this house, I can't imagine the wrath Katniss feels for it.

Leontius combs his finger through my wet hair, putting more of his product in it. "Oh, I'm sure you both must love it. But what about you two, together?"

Without hesitation I answer, "We're fabulous. It's great to be able to be together, here at home. Of course her mother is kind of strict – I'm sure you saw that interview when she said Katniss shouldn't have a boyfriend yet. That's why we're not together all the time, but we hung out just this morning. It's hard, being so in love but not being able to be together all of the time."

They all sigh and look content. I don't think anyone from the Capitol would be trying to spy on me via the prep team, but if they did, I have no doubt the team would back me one hundred percent. Finally, I'm done in the bath, and as soon as I get out they are rushing me to be on schedule – hair, nails, makeup, the works. "When's Portia going to be here?" I ask as they've just about finished up.

They answer, "Oh, she should be here soon. Actually, she may even be here already! We should go downstairs and see."

They start to head out, and are taking the only clothing in the room – one of their thin robes – with them, "Wait. Can I borrow that?"

Leontius looks at the robe and back at me like I'm crazy, "Why in the world, Peeta? Everyone here has already seen you."

Yeah, well, not Lucern, who is downstairs as well. I tell them as much and they make knowing "ohhh" sounds before handing me the robe. As we pass my bedroom, which has its door open, they all get distracted from the task at hand and go in there. I let them have their fun and keep going down the stairs. I can already hear Portia's voice, along with Lucern's. The sound is enough to make me rush downstairs. Out of everything that happened in the Capitol and the arena, and everything that it represents, Portia is the only thing I missed.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see her in all of her Portia glory – her glossy brown hair done up in some attractive fashionable way, her skin giving off that glow. She has a slight smile curling her lips as she speaks to my brother. Speaking of Lucern, he's looking stupendously love struck. When I get near them, only a few feet away, I clear my throat.

Portia spins to look at me, letting out a squeal as her slight curling-of-the-lips smile becomes a full-blown grin, "Peeta!"

She runs at me and throws her arms around me, and I hug her back. "Portia, how are you?"

Drawing back slightly, she answers, "I'm… excellent, of course!" Her smile isn't as bright as it should be, and I notice. But since Lucern is here, I'm not going to mention it. "What about you? How are you? And how's your leg?"

Without waiting for me to answer, she kneels on the ground and examines it herself. That leg. Sometimes I look down at that leg and think _that's not mine_. Sometimes, just looking at it makes me ache with anger at the Hunger Games. If they had never happened, I would still have my leg. I wouldn't toss and turn just trying to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. And I wouldn't have had those moments with Katniss. But then I make myself think that they weren't all bad. Because now, with all this money, I can help people who had nothing before. They made me grow up and become a different person, and everyone needs to do it sometime. Most of all, I appreciate the Hunger Games because of those moments I have with Katniss.

As Portia stands back up, I force myself back to reality. She gives me a smile, "It looks good! And I've altered every measurement we have on record for it. Now, come on, we have so much to do."

She takes me by the hand and starts leading me up the stairs. I look back behind us, where there are clothes and her bags, and I ask, "Where are we going?"

She gives me a look like I'm being silly, "You're showing me your paintings, of course."

Right. I had forgotten I'd told her of them during one of our phone conversations. She promised to help me pick out which ones to bring as my talent on the Victory Tour. We get to the second level, and as I lead her to the studio, I realize Lucern followed us up. Before I open the door I give him a weird look, "You've never been interested in going in here before."

He doesn't speak back, only gives me a dirty look, before moving his gaze to Portia and letting his expression melt into that lovesick puppy look. She raises her brows at him, "Oh, honey… that is just not going to happen."

I fight to hold in a laugh when she reaches up and pats his cheek. "Sorry, but no." In my memory, Lucern has never been turned down by any girl, let alone turned down patronizingly.

Luc's face rapidly blushes and he turns and walks away. Portia looks back at me, with an uncertain look on her face, "Was I too mean?"

Now my chuckle escapes, "No, don't worry about it. He's resilient." I turn the knob and open the door with a flourish, "Now this is it."

Her jaw drops when she walks in. For a moment she doesn't say anything, only turns and takes in all of the paintings. "Peeta… these are incredible."

I can feel a blush stain my cheeks, and I look at the ground, "Thank you."

And then she's right in front of me, "I mean it. If you'd let me, I'd take one to bring home."

"Really? You… you really think they're that good?" Pleasure swoops through me as she walks around and goes directly to one of Katniss and myself that I painted from memory. It's the outfits we wore for out Chariot ride, but it's more than that. I'm sitting down, plain old Peeta, and Katniss is effervescent. Like it happened in real life, the eye is immediately drawn to her.

Portia runs her fingers over the etching I made at the bottom, whispering the words, "_Along for the Ride_." Then she looks at me, "I told you those words."

I give her a self-deprecating smile, "Yeah, they really did fit the situation, too."

She sighs and walks over to me, "You shine too, Peeta. It's just in a less obvious and more … substantial way."

I take her hand in mine and smile, "Thanks."

We then walk around the room, picking out several paintings I've done – some I've thought were good, some were all right, to take to show my talent. Portia tells me that they're good, great even, and beautiful. I accept her compliments with a nod and a smile, but I didn't want them to be beautiful – I wanted them to be truthful. And the truth isn't always pretty, which is shown exceptionally well in the paintings of the Hunger Games. Hardly anything that happened there was truly beautiful, but it was all truthful.

Then I look at a painting we've chosen to bring along of the cave, and think as my stomach flips in discomfort, well, it was _almost_ all truthful. It doesn't take long before the final decisions are made and Portia takes my hand again and leads me out of the room and back down the stairs. I notice that she's less talkative now than before, and I can just tell there's something different with her.

By the time she has me sitting down and is running her hands through my hair, the change in her is so noticeable I can't help but ask, "Portia, what's wrong?"

Her fingers still for a moment before she continues her motions, "Nothing. Why would you say that?"

I look up at her, shaking my hair out of my eyes, "Because I know you, and I can tell."

She sits on the arm of the chair I'm sitting in, resting her hand on my shoulder. "It's…" she looks hesitant before her head drops down a bit, "It's Cinna."

Worry starts is slow but steady crawl into my stomach, "What about him? He's okay, isn't he?"

She shakes her head, making the necklaces she's wearing clang together, "Yes, of course he's fine. He's just being so _frustrating_ lately. He's drawing away from me, and he's going into things that I don't even know if I want to think about. He says he's not, but… does he think I'm stupid or something? I mean we live together, we share a bed – I know when something is different in him."

Upon hearing her words I give her a double take, "You and Cinna?"

She looks down at my shocked face, and gives me a smile, "Yes. You really couldn't tell?"

I shake my head, but don't elaborate beyond, "I just thought you were friends." Because, honestly, I had thought Cinna was a homosexual. Then again, there are many guys in the Capitol, a lot of them who are exactly like Leontius, and compared to him, Cinna is as manly as the roughest, toughest miner on the block.

She sighs, and it hurts my heart to hear the sadness in it, "It's just that I know he's up to something. And he's hiding it from me. In the years we've known each other, we've _never_ hidden anything from each other. It's like he's slipping away from me, and even though I can feel it, I can't stop it."

I pat Portia on the knee, "I know the feeling. I'm sorry – I really can't say anything that helps." Portia not only loved Cinna, but she had his love in return. And, now, it's like she's seeing his love disappear before her eyes. And I know that scene all too well, I think, as she leans down to give me a hug. We're two peas in a pod, Portia and I.

Suddenly the front door is thrown open, and Effie Trinket, her hair a bright, pumpkin-on-steroids-like orange color, stands there, clipboard that no doubt holds her beloved schedule in hand. She turns this way and that until she spots Portia and I in the sitting room. "Hello! Look at you, already bathed and getting ready. Right. On. Schedule. I am so happy you're still like that." Her accent, like Portia's, is undoubtedly from the Capitol, but, unlike Portia's, it is extremely pronounced.

She marks something down on her paper as she makes her way toward us, her pointy heels clicking on the floor. Portia lets me go and stands, getting out the outfit I'm supposed to be wearing when we leave here. "How have you been, Peeta?"

I smile at her, because the way she is – uptight about time and the rather prissy tone of her voice – is kind of comforting. It's good to know that after the Games, where there was so much change in my life, Effie Trinket will still be the same. "I can't complain. How about you, Effie?"

She preens, clearly happy that I asked. "Since you'd like to know, I am wonderful. I have the entire tour planned out, and, if it all goes well, I have a meeting planned with my boss, discussing a promotion to a higher district. I mean, you and Katniss won, but what are the odds some other ruffians from this place will follow suit?"

Ah, yep. Same old Effie. But, much like I did with my prep team's comments, I don't take offense, because that's just Effie. It's the way she is, and what she was raised to think. Instead all I say is, "Good point." And besides, it's not a crime for her to want to get a promotion at her work. Many people want that, even those who aren't involved with the Hunger Games.

As Portia lays out my outfit – something simple and comfortable looking, but fashionable, like black pants, a white shirt, and a sweater, Effie stands in front of me, "Have you seen Haymitch this morning?"

I hesitate before I answer cautiously, "Yes."

She narrows her eyes, "And was he getting ready?"

Once again, I hesitate, but say, "He was on his way… to getting ready. I'm almost certain of it."

I can tell by the look on her face that she's irritated, even before she huffs, "Ugh! That man… I can't even begin to explain how disgusting and rude he is to my boss. No one cares. No one! They all just say to deal with it. Well, it's easy for them to say when they aren't the ones 'dealing with it!'" She makes that weird, impatient huffy noise again, and checks her watch, "I'll head over to Katniss' house and make sure that girl is on time. Haymitch just better be ready to go! Please be ready in ten minutes, on the nose. Everyone is meeting outside."

And with that, she turns and the clicking of her heels goes back out the door. I'm not sure if I feel bad for Effie, because she has to deal with Haymitch, or if I feel bad for Haymitch, because he has to deal with Effie. I come to decide that I feel worse for Effie – if only because she is going to have to spend time in Haymitch's repulsive house. Portia steps in front of me, "Well, ten minutes. Let's go!"

She has me dressed in the casual wear in no time, and then is maneuvering me into some gloves, a scarf, and a fur coat. It sure makes me seem a lot more upper-crust than I really am. By the time everything is on and I'm ready, we've used the whole ten minutes. We make it to the door, which she opens for me. As soon as I'm out the door, I look up and I can see Katniss literally running toward me.

For a second, my heart flips around and I think – she does love me; she's coming back. And then, like I'm hit by a lightning bolt with the truth, I realize it's for all of the cameras. For the nation that thinks she's really in love with me. Fake or not, our safety – her safety, particularly – depends on our love. And when Katniss' well-being is concerned, I'm not going to falter, even if it means hurting myself in the process.

When she reaches me, I take her in my arms and spin, just like a real, live-action romance. But it was a bad idea, as, while I have walking and running down with this leg, other things, like spinning with the extra weight of someone else in my arms, haven't been mastered. I feel us going down, and shift slightly, so that my back takes the brunt of it. The pain I feel hitting the ground doesn't even compare to the pleasure I have at holding her in my arms again.

Before I can let out the "_oompf_" that wants to escape because of the air being knocked out of me, Katniss' lips are on mine and I swear my heart is thumping hard enough to knock against my rib cage. I relish the feeling of her lips pressed against mine once more. I've missed it, even though it does feel different now, knowing that it is all a show. But I'm a pathetic boy who still loves the girl who doesn't love him back. I still crave her kisses, her cool, fresh lips on mine, even if it's all a sham. I'll do anything to keep up the show and keep her safe, even if it means my heart being torn to pieces in the process. It happened once before, and I lived. Now I'm prepared.

All too soon, but at the same time, not soon enough, she pulls back and helps me get to my feet. And even though she tucks her arm in mine, physically showing our closeness, I can feel that she's not really here with me. I have the same feeling as we say our goodbyes to everyone who comes to talk to us. None are really important – I've said goodbye to my family already. Besides, it's just the Victory Tour. We'll be back soon enough.

The only time Katniss and I separate is hours later, when we're on the train. There's a rich, delicious meal being served. The same kind of meal that was served when we were going to the Hunger Games. Only this time, I moderate how much I eat so I don't feel sick tonight. And though the meal is the same, so much is different now than it was only a few months ago. The connection between this continuity and the newness is strange. What's more in terms of continuity, is that Haymitch and Effie are the ever present voices being herd tonight – bickering.

I look across the table to Katniss, who hasn't spoken, not since we've been at dinner. She's just picking at her food. I want to ask her what's wrong, how she's feeling. But I know she wouldn't welcome the questions from me, so I stay quiet. Finally, she looks up at everyone, "I don't feel very well. I'm going to go to bed, I think."

Effie says, "Well, all right." Then looks at the two of us expectantly.

I stand and Katniss walks over and gives me a light peck on the lips. The distance I feel between us despite our close proximity chills me. "Goodnight." I whisper.

She just nods back, and leaves the room. As I sit back down, Portia, pats my knee. "Are you okay?"

I give her a small smile, "I'll be fine. I know the whole story now. I'm prepared for this." At least, I sure hope I am.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! Please review, and thanks to all those who did so before.**


	4. Magnificence Lost

I spend most of the night up, pacing my room, afraid to sleep, as I am and have been every night since I returned home. I generally think of the same thing when pacing as I do when I'm awake – Katniss. But the difference is that when I sleep I have those night terrors, the ones where she's always dying or missing or in pain.

So I stay awake as long as I possibly can, making it to almost five in the morning as the train keeps rushing to its destination. I've discovered this over the past few months: if I stay awake long enough, then I have less of a chance of remembering my dreams. Walking along the hallways, looking in on my paintings, doodling on pieces of scrap paper. Sometimes thinking of what is bound to happen on this tour, sometimes thinking of home and the bakery, of recipes I want to maybe to, and, most of the time, thinking of Katniss.

But as hard as I try, I fall into the dark world of sleep that awaits me on a bed made of feathers. And, thankfully, this is one of the nights that dreams don't chase me through sleep. As I wake up, I feel relieved.

At the same time, confusion takes me over: why in the world did Effie Trinket let me sleep in until eleven o'clock in the morning? That's… well, unheard of, I'm pretty sure, in Effie-land. Especially today, when she must have a full day planned out for me. For a split second, the thought crosses my mind – maybe she's relaxed a little bit. After all, these aren't really the Hunger Games, so maybe she doesn't think we need such a strict schedule. Then I laugh it off; Effie lives her entire life, and everyone else's around her, through her planner. I doubt any of the severity of the schedule during the Games varies from the one she uses in everyday life.

With a yawn and a stretch, I stand and head into the bathroom. Today is District Eleven. Rue and Thresh's families will be there, looking us in the eye as we smile for the cameras. In some ways, I think the Victory Tour could be worse than the Hunger Games. While I'm not faced with the people who died to keep Katniss and myself alive, I have to stand with their loved ones. Loved ones who were hoping and praying for Katniss and myself to die so their son or daughter or niece or nephew could live.

Definitely not a walk in the park.

I push these thoughts that I've dwelled over for months away and debate getting into the shower. But I decide against it – with my luck my prep team will make me re-wash anyway. So, still in my pajamas, I walk out of my room and into the hallway. Katniss' door is closed. I want to knock, to ask if she wants to go to breakfast, just to see her face, even. But I don't. I just go to the dining compartment by myself.

To my surprise, I see Haymitch there already. I'm surprised he's up already, but, on the other hand, he probably never went to bed in the first place. As soon as he sees me, he tosses back a sip of whatever kind of liquor he has in his flask. When I enter I'm sure to throw him a bright smile, even though he's deeply who's scowling. "Good morning, sunshine."

"You're awfully damn chipper for just getting up." He replies as he leans back in his chair, and watches me speculatively. If I had thought he was really drunk already, I was wrong. Because this look is definitely more measuring than something he could manage completely smashed.

I catch his eye and ask, "What? Why are you giving me that look?" Because it really makes me uneasy.

But he evades answering and just shrugs, then tips his flask again. "Empty. Damn."

I try to decipher the reason why Haymitch had given me that weird look. He's done it before – around the times right before and after the Hunger Games. And those looks never boded well. But maybe he's just in a bad mood and is mulling over his own life, which he does more than he'd care to admit to anyone.

Before I can dwell on the look longer, the compartment fills with servers, placing lunch foods on the table, followed by a stream of people, including Effie, Portia, and Cinna, who all sit down and start loading their plates with food.

I keep waiting for Katniss to come, because I don't feel too comfortable out here starting lunch if she's missing out. I clear my throat, "Where's Katniss?"

Effie looks at me and waves her hand in the air, like it's flicking away my worries, "Oh, she's finishing up being prepped."

Huh? "But… why wasn't I woken up to be prepped?"

She gives her strange, tickling laugh, "Trust me, prepping that girl takes hours longer than it does to get you ready." And with that she starts eating, which is her signaling to me that this conversation is over.

My stomach growls at me, and, even though I want to wait for Katniss, I decide that she probably wouldn't even notice if I had started eating by the time she got here or not. And even though I'm feeling a little guilty, I'm also a lot hungry. I've hardly taken two bites before the door to the compartment opens again.

Finally, Katniss. She looks around at everyone, but as soon as she crosses my gaze, she tenses and quickly looks at the ground and quickly walks to sit at the table, taking her place next to Cinna.

My stomach sinks. For some reason, I thought maybe we could be friends while on the Tour. Perhaps quasi-friends, even. Semi-friends. But I guess that's only for the cameras. The back of my throat burns with tears that I refuse to let go. I can't very well begrudge Katniss for feeling the way she does. If anything, she should begrudge me, for trying to force my feelings on her. Which she does.

Portia, who's sitting next to me, stretches and says, "I love sleeping on trains. It's so relaxing."

At these words, I notice Katniss' scowl deepen. Apparently I'm not the only one, as Cinna smiles slightly, "Oh, me too. Such a good nights' rest."

I have to fight to hold in a chuckle as Katniss refuses to look up from her plate and sinks lower into her seat. Apparently, she was not one who had a good night's rest. Haymitch is more amused than I've ever seen him while in a group as large as this and he adds on, "Even I slept well."

It's a lie that I can see right through, and so would Katniss if she were paying attention to anyone's body language or the cues going on. The only other person who is oblivious to the fact that this is a small, inclusive way to tease Katniss, is Effie. She blinks and looks at us strangely, as if she doesn't have a clue why we're saying we prefer sleeping on trains to sleeping on our beds at home.

I don't chime in on that discussion, and change the subject, hoping, maybe, to draw Katniss out of her mood as I say, "The food is delicious today."

Katniss loves the food here. I was sure she'd look up from her steady glare at the table, or at least nod in agreement. But she does neither of these things, and my comment only sparked more of a "let's-mess-with-Katniss" vibe, as everyone readily agrees with me about the food, still with those half-smiles on their face. And I will admit, while I want Katniss to be in a good mood, it is funny to see her get so huffy so easily. It's something else I like about her.

Looking out the window, I note that we're slowing – even though I know we can't have reached District Eleven yet. I turn to Effie, "What are we stopping for?"

She frowns, "I suppose we're getting more fuel." But she mutters in a troubled voice, "Though we stopped only two hours ago… odd."

Haymitch, the ever helpful presence that he is, chimes in, "And off-schedule, I'm betting."

Effie throws him a dirty look, and I do feel slightly bad for her. Yeah, she gets mocked and takes a lot of flak for staying so punctual, but… it's her job. She could be less uptight about it, no doubt, but she does her best. "It'll probably be a quick stop." I tell her with a comforting smile.

But my statement loses all semblance of comfort when the door opens and one of our servers peeks his head in and says, "We apologize for the inconvenience, but the compressor unit in the car-mounted helium refrigeration system has malfunctioned. It shouldn't take long to fix, at least an hour, at most two."

Even before he can close the door again, Effie has her schedule whipped out in front of her, and is delving into it, flipping voraciously through pages of notes and times. Her eyes are a bit crazed, and she is near hyperventilation as she says, her voice shrill, "An _hour_? Two? But… this changes everything! it messes everything all up. Oh good lord. Oh no. I'm going to have to call the District Eleven mayor and let him know, and what about preparation? Everything is just off now, so completely _wrong_."

Even Haymitch doesn't find amusement in Effie's distress. Of course, he's not sympathetic, either, but at least he's not laughing or taunting her. That would just make everything worse. But then from the other side of the table, Katniss' voice, unheard of all afternoon, just explodes, "No one cares, Effie!"

I look at her in shock. So does everyone else. This outburst was just so unexpected. And un-Katniss-like. We all do know that no one cares about the schedules like Effie does, but it's just an unspoken rule that we don't tell her that. I can tell that our looking at her makes her uncomfortable when she gets defensive, repeating the fact that no one cares.

Everyone's eyes are still on her as she wrenches open the train door and slams it shut behind her as she goes outside. Effie, whose rant had been stunned into silence, seemed to find her train of thought again, "Well, never in my life has anyone…" she then spares a sharp look at Haymitch, before continuing, "Ahem, _almost_ anyone treated me so rudely." She's quiet again as she looks at the table cloth, and fiddles with her schedule before shutting it and walking away, looking… defeated.

Portia clears her throat, "That was quite the entertainment."

Cinna is silent and Haymitch lifts a brow, "I never even knew the girl wanted to pick on Effie. To think I missed out on all this time to have an ally."

I ignore everyone and stand up. I've never seen Effie Trinket so defeated in my life, and I wasn't particularly a fan of it. I feel bad, like it was partially my fault, and something urges me to go see if Effie is all right. Perhaps it's my guilt – I mean, Katniss looked like she was having a rough day already, and maybe she would never have snapped if she had someone to talk to – to vent to, really – about everything that's going on.

I find Effie in the sitting room compartment, and I knock on the door, "Effie?"

She turns around, her orange hair more rumpled than I've ever seen it, and I don't think it's a trick of the light that makes her eyes glisten like that. "Yes, Peeta?"

"I just wanted to let you know that we do appreciate your schedules and you. Katniss too, but she's been having a rough time today." I give her a smile, hoping she'll give me her weirdly bright definitely-from-the-Capitol one back. But she doesn't.

"Thank you. You know, I do these schedules for you. All of you – Katniss and Haymitch included, regardless of how dumb they make think it is. It's very hurtful when people insult all of your hard work, and treat it like it means nothing." Her voice is getting that huffy tone in it again, so that has to be a good sign.

Though I do feel bad that Effie's feelings are hurt, I do have to say she takes it over the top. Those schedules are just as much for her benefit as they are for ours. Then again, she doesn't really need to hear that, so I don't say anything. I just tell her, "Well, I wanted you to know that we do appreciate the work you put in, even if sometimes we don't show it."

She shakes her head, "Don't say "we," Peeta; it's not you I would like an apology from. Would you please go? I have a lot of things to take care of."

I say quietly, "Okay." And shut the door.

Next stop: find Katniss. I know she doesn't want to see me and I know, as much as it kills me, that I've done everything wrong since we got out of the arena. But we're going to have to be together for the next few months for the Tour at least – while we may not need to be romantically involved, we should be friends. Friendly, at the very least. Not just for my own benefit – because god knows I miss even being able to just talk to her without her avoiding my gaze – but for her, too.

I stop off the train, thinking of what to say to her when I talk, really talk, to her for the first time in months. I have to start with the apology, right off the bat, I decide, and then I'll take it from there. As I walk along the train, spotting her yards and yards away in the distance, anticipation builds inside my chest. Katniss.

I know she can hear me coming when her shoulders tense. In response, my own stiffen; I feel uncomfortable by making her uncomfortable. I also wonder how she knows it's me coming without looking. Then again, she did say I walk heavy, maybe that's it. Either way, I've reached her now and it's time for me to start talking. Apologize, maybe beg to be her friend again… My heart beats faster just at the idea of talking to her – just like it did before the Hunger Games. Ridiculous, I tell myself, but I can't stop it.

Her voice surprises me, "I'm not in the mood for a lecture." She says.

What? Okay, maybe she doesn't really know it's me. Before I can debate if kidding around is the right way to go with this, I joke, "I'll try to keep it brief."

She doesn't look at me as I sit next to her – she deliberately keeps her eyes on the ground in front of her and mumbles, "I thought you were Haymitch."

Aw man, my leg – the fake one – is being difficult. I reach down to reposition it and inform her that he's still eating his muffin at the lunch table. With a deep breath I sit back and don't look at her, even though I desperately want to. Talking to Katniss again. Okay. Deep breath. Think of something good to say, Peeta. But all I come up with is to state the obvious, "Bad day, huh?"

Quietly she replies, "It's nothing."

But of course it is, and I desperately want her to be able to come to me with these things, instead of just insisting that she's fine. Time to go with the apology. Nerves dance inside of my veins as I say, "Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home." The one where I was a jerk. But I don't say that. It's hard enough for me to just get out, "I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you." I still am jealous, incredibly so. But it – the jealousy – like so many other things, is different than it felt before. "And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry."

Those words are probably the truest thing I've ever said. It occurred to me weeks ago – how dare I hold the fact that she was just trying to keep herself alive at all costs against her? I was doing the same thing – doing anything and everything to get her home alive. If making sure she get home to her loved ones involves heartbreak on my end, who am I to begrudge her that? We both had the same goals; it just took me too long to realize that.

She surprises me by apologizing back. I turn my head to look at her for the first time since this conversation started. She's, not surprisingly, not looking at me. The truth is that she has no reason to apologize, and I tell her that. And I add on what's been eating away at me for months, "But I don't want to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around." What I want is to be falling into the snow all the time, but even more than that I just want her back in my life – in any way possible besides this fake relationship. I finish off by saying, "So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends."

She looks at me for the first time, and hope just goes soaring through me at the sight of those big gray eyes, looking directly at me for the first time in way too long. And she says a word that I never knew could make me so happy: "Okay."

But then she looks away again, and even though I'm smiling, her face is still grim. There's clearly something still hurting her. And who better to talk to about your troubles than a friend? I ask again, "So what's wrong?"

But she just looks away again and picks at the weeds on the ground without answering. It's okay. I get it. We aren't there yet. There's no point in rushing the friendship. "Let's start with something more basic. Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine…" What's more basic? What's the most simple, unobtrusive question to ask a friend. Aha! I finish my sentence with, "But I don't know what your favorite color is?"

I think I see her lips curl into a grin, and pleasure sweeps through me. I haven't made her laugh or smile in so long. "Green," she answers. Hmm. Not surprising. And she does look excellent in green. Then she asks, "What's yours?"

Right away my mind flies to the sunset, the gentle orange casting everywhere, perfectly blending the red, pinks, and yellows of the not quite night but not quite day sky, as I answer, "Orange."

She looks at me again, like I'm crazy, "Orange? Like Effie's hair?"

I think maybe I should find this funny, if it weren't so horrifying. The idea of anyone actually loving that color is ridiculous. I feel that even people in the Capitol don't like half of what they wear. When I inform her that the color orange that I like is "a bit more muted," _a bit_ is a huge understatement. I try to explain better, adding on, "More like… sunset."

She's silent now, and she looks off into the distance with a slight smile still on her face. It makes me feel good, like I've – we've – accomplished something good today. She looks back at me, "You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them."

And even though they're matters of a sort of secret pride for me, for months, I've been desperately wanting to show them to Katniss. Because she's really the only person who can just _understand_. Bracing my hands on the ground, I push myself up, "Well, I've got a whole train car full." To offer my hand or not to offer my hand? I decide to, just because I want the connection. An offering of the hand isn't too personal or offensive – it's just right. "Come on."

She does take my hand, and I'm not sure if that surprises me or not. But I don't dwell on it; I just let it be, as we walk in silence back to the train. I remember a time not long ago when we were on a stopped train, and we walked hand in hand. But it's better now, because before we were ruining something that was ultimately fake. And now we're building something real.

When we reach the train, I let her hand go and open the door. As she reaches for the knob, she stills, "I've got to apologize to Effie first."

Oh, yeah. Remembering her hurt and indignant she was, I scratch the back of my head and follow Katniss inside, "Don't be afraid to lay it on thick."

We walk into the dining car, and I see that Effie returned to the table. As soon as the others see us, I smile at them and go to wait on the other door. Apologizing, I know, is a tough thing for Katniss to do under any circumstances. She's a proud, and stubborn person, even when she knows she's wrong. And I don't want to make it worse for her by witnessing it. See, there are books and stories about how love is blind, about maybe to others I'm a victim of that saying. But I'm not. I see Katniss for all she is – virtues and flaws.

After only a few minutes, Katniss meets me in the hall. That was actually pretty quick, especially for Effie's forgiveness speeches. As we walk, the silence hangs over us. I'm nervous, because even though I've wanted Katniss, above all else, to be the one who sees the paintings, just the idea of someone else really comprehending the truth of them is in itself nerve wracking.

Either way, it's time. The door swings open and I let her walk in ahead of me. Portia was the one who picked most of them out, and it was her decision to showcase the best, and worst, my paintings had to offer about the Hunger Games. _"It's the reason you're here, after all_," she'd told me.

I watch Katniss as she watches the paintings. Her eyes are wide, eating up most of her face, and her face has lost some color. She's scowling in a way that I haven't seen in a while. I already know her reaction to them, even as I ask, "What do you think?"

She turns slowly to look at me, "I hate them." And I understand – she's not talking anything about skill or color or the lines and shapes. She's talking about the content, the Games, the arena, the feelings. The memories. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?"

"I see them every night." I answer immediately. It's not just in sleep. It's all of the time after the sun goes down. The darkness, the silence, the loneliness just envelops me into the arms of the Hunger Games.

"Me, too." She tells me, and looks up at me with wondering eyes, "Does it help? To paint them out?"

"I don't know. I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am." I tell myself that if I stay up late, putting the visions that plague my mind on paper, maybe the images really will transfer out of my head. But most nights I still wake up, terrified, and I know the truth, "But they haven't gone anywhere."

The words she says terrifies me more than any of the singular dreams ever could with the words, "Maybe they won't. Haymitch's haven't."

The thought that the nightmares won't end, that every night I'll be sucked into a world where Katniss is hurt and in trouble, while I'm close to dying myself, if unbearable. And the idea of turning out like Haymitch: alone and bitter, and the only way I can manage to be around anyone, even myself, is to be angry and drunk, makes me shudder. Even I hear the tightness in my voice when I respond, "No. But for me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand." I want this part of the conversation, this idea of the Hunger Games haunting us throughout our whole lives, over with, so I change the subject, none too subtly. "So you really hate them?"

I guess she didn't like the topic any more than I did, as she says back straight away, "Yes. But they're extraordinary. Really." She says the words, but it's obvious in that Katniss-clear way of hers that she wants to leave the compartment. I think maybe she's going to just want to be alone for a bit, but she surprises me, by inviting me to see her talent. Then she quips, "Cinna did a great job on it."

My laugh bursts from me; I've missed her jokes, and her sense of humor. It's like a rare gift – I make the jokes much more often, but that just makes hers that much more special. But I even more than I want to see her fake talent – which in itself is utterly ridiculous, I mean, I'm _sure_ Katniss has many talents she can show off – I don't want to miss a minute of getting a look at the only district other than Twelve that I've ever been to. "Later. Come on, we're almost to District Eleven. Let's go take a look at it."

It's only a little while later that I sit in the bathroom of my compartment, freshly washed and scrubbed from my prep team, who quickly leave, saying they themselves need to get ready. I wait for Portia and look out the window, at the landscape that is still rushing by. It's incredulous and impressive and shocking how _big_ it is here. I mean, District Twelve is an all right size, and I never thought we were a small District by any means. But after seeing what I have of Eleven – and we're not even through yet – my thoughts are just blown out of the water. Because we are just teeny tiny in comparison.

As Katniss and I stood watching out the window, we passed more trees and farmland than I have ever seen, ten times over. Even more than that, though, is the people. The numbers are certainly in proportion to the size, that's for sure. Right now, the sun is shining and everything outside just looks like a perfect day. But for some reason, I have an uneasy feeling creeping along my gut. I would have thought a place like this, this populated and expanse, would feel open and inviting. But when I look out and see the worn, defeated looks of the people we pass, the fields that should have kids running and playing in them but are instead bare, I'm just overcome with sadness.

The door opens and I look away from the depressing sight to see Portia standing in the doorway, smiling brightly, "Boy, are you going to love what I have for you!"

I draw my brows together, "What is it?"

She shakes her head and closes the door behind her, practically running over to me, with my outfit in a closed bag in her hands. She rolls her eyes as she starts the story, "Well, while Cinna and I work together to create the costumes for everything, he always makes this big stink about using _his_ color scheme. The man is so easy-going around everyone else, but let me tell you – he's got a hard head when it comes to strange things. Anyway. When we were coming up with these outfits, I pulled in my idea… which was to use this beautiful autumn orange. It's your favorite! Just like in that painting from your collection. Gorgeous."

Without farther ado, she unzips the bag and reveals a long sleeved, soft material, the same color as my favorite, with brown pants. Both have leaf designs. "The coloring is really spot-on Portia. You got it absolutely right."

Her eyes actually glow and she claps her hands together. "Excellent. Now, move, move. Get dressed. Effie is really on a rampant right now, even more time-prone than usual. Especially after Katniss' apology. So… you two are okay now?"

I'm still on this happiness/relief high from everything being all right between Katniss and I and the grin takes over my face, "Yeah. We're friends. I think, real ones." For the first time, real friends.

She smiles, but I can see that it doesn't go all the way to her eyes, "That's great, Peeta."

As I get dressed I don't bother asking why she's not exactly thrilled because I know how she feels about Katniss and I being close in any way – while she does like Katniss, to an extent, she's not going to be joining her fan club any time soon. She, much like a sister would, I imagine, begrudges the fact that Katniss broke my heart, and there's a small part of her that just doesn't trust Katniss' motives. That part of her doesn't budge no matter what I say to convince her otherwise. And I can't imagine her opinion on Katniss is helping her relationship with Cinna, who clearly adores Katniss.

But I digress. I hardly get out a comment about how I like how the outfit feels and looks before Effie opens the door and ushers me out into the sitting room with Katniss. As soon as we're both sitting, she stands in front of us, holding her clipboard with the schedule on it like a weapon. "Now, you two both remember: District Eleven doesn't have you victors riding through the town, like you'll be experiencing in a few of the others. I don't know why – I mean, if I lived in this place, I would certainly want to show off the best aspect, which is clearly their land. But it's not up to me, now is it?"

She goes on, "You two will be standing out on the verandah," when she says that Katniss and I both make eye contact and shrug. Because what the heck is a 'verandah?' Effie doesn't notice this, however, and goes on, "while the mayor – Jenkin Tourney – reads a speech about you. Don't expect much, he's not up to snuff in his normal speeches. You two will respond with the thank-you's I gave you both weeks ago." She stares us down, "You did memorize them, right?"

Of course. It wasn't that difficult to memorize, anyhow. I recited it every night before I would let myself drift off to sleep, sometimes for hours. As Katniss and I both nod to let her know that we did indeed follow her instructions, she looks calmer, "Oh, good. And, as I'm sure both of you know, it would be customary for the victors to say a little something about the deceased from said district. Do either of you have something prepared?"

I pat my pocket where a little card rests, saying the same speech I've been writing since last week: _Thresh and Rue were truly exceptional. People doubted them, their abilities, and yet they made it to the Final Eight tributes standing. They were both skilled and smart and brave, but most of all, they were honorable. Both of them played a huge role in keeping both of us alive – Katniss directly, but me by extension and just thinking of them makes me feel a remorse, for life lost. Katniss and I… we both owe them our lives. It's a debt that can hardly be repaid with mere words. They were two of the best people I've ever known, and if anyone else deserved to be happy and peaceful, it's them…_ and then I have the Idea. That isn't written on this card, just in case I get searched and someone pulls it out to read, because the Capitol only knows that what I plan to do is probably illegal in some form. I think I have it all memorized, but just in case I got up in front of Thresh and Rue's families and forgot it… well, I don't think I could just make up something on the spot that is as good or respectful.

Nodding in response, I then look at Katniss, and I expected her to have something to say, something for Rue's family. But she just looks at her lap, looking miserable. I pat her knee and give her a smile, because I know she must have wanted to write something about Thresh and Rue, but maybe she just couldn't find the words. After all, she's never been one to be completely comfortable in front of the crowd or the cameras. "My speech will go for both of us, if you want."

She nods, and Effie taps her papers, "Good, good. Finally, at the very end of the ceremony, you'll be awarded with the District Eleven Victors' Agricultural Plaque. You will get one of these for every district that you visit. Then we will all retire to the Justice Building, where they will be hosting a large dinner for all of us, complete with many of the Districts' typical specialties." Our train slows down at the same time that she stops talking, and she smiles widely, "Excellent, everything is right on time."

I walk over and look out the window as Cinna comes in to give some things to Katniss. Waiting for us on the platform, I can see, is just this intimidating squad of Peacekeepers. The uneasiness I'd felt earlier returns. There's just something… not right about this district. The feeling is intensified by the way we're rushed into a run-down truck and just dumped off at the Justice Building.

District Twelve may be considered poor, maybe even the poorest of the poor, but even our Justice Building is in better shape than this one. Before I even realize what's happening, there are people swarming around, hooking up microphones, and in seconds they're already gone, leaving me feeling a little bit dizzy.

I look at Katniss, and she looks about as unimpressed and unsettled as I do. When I take her hand, it's as much for calming both of us as it is for the cameras. Effie pushes us out and tells us to smile big. As I start walking, I have to half-tug Katniss along with me. I don't know if she notices me squeezing her hand, to let her know that it's going to be all right. This will be brief, and we'll make it through it. I smile down at her, but she's not looking at me. She's looking like she's going to be sick. Looking at the bottom of the stage.

I mean to follow her gaze, but I'm just sucked in to looking… everywhere. There are people all around, stuffed onto the street, into every building, watching from the windows. They look so compacted in, so stuffed together, that they must not even have room to breathe properly. Such an odd thing, I think, considering the size of this district. Dredges of gloom start to sink into me. So this is what it's like outside of District Twelve: more unhappiness.

I hardly even hear the mayor start his speech, as I'm still trying to take in everything around me. All these people, suffocating even with all of this space. I'm brought back to myself just in time, as two adorable girls shuffle up to us, presenting us with a large bouquet. My mind flies to the reply I've memorized, "Oh, amaryllis and delphinium, right? A District Eleven specialty, and they're certainly two of my favorites."

Katniss concludes, "They're very beautiful. Thank you, so very much. I think they will look perfect in my kitchen."

Then Mayor Tourney speaks into the microphone, "Do either of you have something specific you would like to say?"

I step forward, "I do." My body is humming, giving me the same rush of confidence I always experience when I'm going in front of a crowd. I give my speech, and I'm relieved that I don't need to pull out my card. And, for the first time, I look at their families. Thresh's side, with only two people, including a small, fragile elderly woman, and then there's Rue's family. Them standing there, all small and broken, just about breaks my heart. Seeing them, I know that my Idea, regardless of it being illegal or not has to go into action.

As soon as I finish my scripted speech, I pause, making eye contact with both of the families, trying to say… I don't know what. That I really am truly sorry for their losses, that their kids, even though I didn't really personally know them, will both always be with me, that they deserve the life I'm living now. After I look at them all, I look back out into the crowd and say, "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."

I can clearly read the shock on their faces, and the ghostly smiles on their faces. It just depresses me farther. This seems like the best thing I can give them, the best I can do, and yet, it's so clearly just not enough. I turn back to Katniss and try to smile at her. She's giving me a strange look, kind of like the one Haymitch was giving me, and it catches me completely by surprise when she boosts herself up and touches her warm, soft lips to mine.

And… the kiss feels different than yesterday. I don't know why, but it feels real, like she genuinely means it. But it's a kiss not bourn from love or passion, but it's all about gratitude, so much that I can taste it.

The mayor is given two large plaques from Peacekeepers, that he just barely manages to balance in his arms as he turns to face Katniss and I. "These are a token of our gratitude and appreciation," he says as he hands us each a plaque.

I have to shift it under my arm to hold both that and the bouquet of flowers, and in my head I run through Effie's schedule. It's time for us to go now, so I nudge Katniss, but her eyes are looking beyond me, and she's shaking. Before I can ask what's wrong, she lurches forward, shouting, "Wait! Wait, please."

The speech that follows is stunning, and as she speaks I feel so proud – I'm proud to be her friend and I'm proud of her for having the courage to stand up here and say those words. Her words about Rue are beautiful and eloquent, and her speech is miles and miles better than mine because while I meant the words I said, her words aren't coming from a well-intentioned piece of paper – they're coming straight from her heart.

What follows her speech is utterly amazing: a man who I cannot find in the sea of people whistles a tune, a tune I heard in the Games… and then everyone shows a classic District Twelve sign of respect – the three finger salute. It's touching and stunning and wonderful, and I know that if it's moving me, Katniss must find it as great as I do.

It takes no effort at all to really smile at all of these people, these beaten but not broken people, and when they start to applaud us, I feel as though I should be applauding them back. But I just nod and smile and wave, and then I take Katniss by the arm – she seems to be having trouble walking back – and lead her back away.

I smile at her, buzzing from what just happened here today. The success of the first day that started the tour is surprising and wonderful, but it seems to be lost on Katniss for some reason, as she just walks wobbly next to me, before stopping and blinking several times. She looks like she's going to be sick. I tip her chin up the look at me, and she kind of shakes her head, in an effort to rid her of something that I can't see. Concern wipes through that nice feeling I had, "Are you all right?"

She mumbles in response, "Just dizzy. The sun was so bright." She does that shaking of the head thing again, and I move my hand from her chin. In a quiet, kind of slow voice, she says that she forgot her flowers.

I don't think she should be walking anywhere right now, particularly out onto the stage under the bright sun when she looks like she's going to keel over. "I'll get them," I offer, but she brushes it off. Before I can dispute with her about her health, I hear something… strange. I look back out at the steps we were standing on only moments ago, to see an old man being forced to his knees by a Peacekeeper. I draw my brows down in confusion, because I honestly have no idea what they are going to do.

But then.

I can feel the blood rush from my head as panic starts to take me over when I realize what they are going to do. The Peacekeeper who is holding the man down takes out a large, shiny gun. _No!_ My mind screams. But before the words can make it past my lips, the old man is laying on the verandah, under the bright sun on this seemingly beautiful, only moments ago magnificent day, with blood pooling around him.

* * *

**I am so sorry it's been five days since I've updated! I've had 3 exams, a paper due, and a presentation in the past three days – school is killing me. Anyway. I'll most likely have every other chapter up either three or four days after another one, and I apologize that I can't update as consistently or as often as I did with the Love Games. I had a lot more free time when I was writing that than I do now.**

**Reviews are much appreciated!**


	5. Important Author's Note

**That about sums up my feelings at the moment. Literally, after I posted that last chapter of Burned, my laptop died. **

**Dead.**

**No life!**

**The black screen of death.**

**I don't mean to sound so overdramatic, but I'm an active writer and a university student who has 3 out of 5 classes that are all mandatory to bring a laptop to class. So I brought my laptop to IT and they said it can and will be fixed… on April ninth. Until then I have to rely on going to the campus library as often as possible, and that's hardly enough time for me even to just get my homework done, let alone write.**

**But I'll write by hand the next few chapters for both my current stories and on the tenth/eleventh, expect a new chapter! So have a little faith! The story will continue! **

**Thank you for sticking by me [in this time of need...],**

**OddCoupler222 :)  
**


	6. A Part of the Act

I just don't understand. At all. The old man whistled, and he died because of it. What was wrong with the whistle? I … just don't understand.

I place my bewilderment on hold as the Peacekeepers stand right in front of Katniss and I, pushing their chests against us, trying to make us walk away. I look away from where the man was and at Katniss, who looks – guilty? Why does she have that look on her face like she's just done something wrong?

Confused by that and sickened by the resonating memory of the blood draining from the man, I think about what these Peacekeepers who are trying to push us away are no strangers of killing for small reasons, and I can see Katniss trying to push back against them. Plus, I really don't like the way that one of them is right up against her.

I push my arm against him, separating he and Katniss, and circle it around her in one motion, "We're going! We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss."

Leading her back to Haymitch, Effie, Portia, and Cinna, who all look worried, we barely get back before Effie hops on us, asking what happened.

I'm careful to look at Haymitch and Katniss' faces, the way they make eye contact, because I've come to realize when something that seems strange or suspicious to me, they usually know what's going on. But they are both pointedly _not_ looking at each other, which makes me even more suspicious.

When Effie stops asking what happened, I know that I can't tell her. I don't want her to be even more anxious than she has to, plus we're still wearing microphones. Anyone can hear us. I take her by the shoulders to calm her and look into her eyes, "Nothing happened, Effie. And old truck backfired."

I can barely stop myself from jumping when there are even more shots fired. I just close my eyes and take a deep breath, keeping them closed and trying not to think about who it was or the way their family members are going to be feeling tonight.

Making my eyes open, I make eye contact with Portia who is raising her brows at me, clearly disbelieving of my whole "nothing happened" story. Before I can even shake my head in response, Haymitch is standing in front of us, saying, "Both of you. With me."

Then he takes us on a long journey – up staircases, down hallways, and to a shifty trapdoor. We follow him through it, and since he's already ripped off our microphones about four rooms ago, I expect real answers. While we've walked, Katniss is still wearing that guilty look. She has to know what's going on.

Finally, Haymitch shuts the trap door behind us and asks, "What happened?"

Katniss isn't speaking up, so I answer, "Right after Katniss made her speech an old man in the crowd whistled, then everyone sent up the salute. I thought it was a good thing, something respectful. But we didn't get right off the verandah on our cue, and the old man who whistled was shot. He died right there, in front of everyone. _Clearly_ it wasn't a good thing… what's going on, Haymitch?"

But he's not answering. He's looking at Katniss as he says, "It will be better coming from you."

Katniss looks pained as she turns to me, and even though I knew she was involved, even though I knew she knew something more than I did, my stomach still sinks as she starts talking, "Before we left on the Tour, President Snow came to visit me. He told me about how people in the Districts doubt our, um, love for each other."

As she says that, I wonder how people watching us on the television could see that Katniss' love for me was fake, but I couldn't when it was right in front of my eyes. But I don't say anything, just let her continue.

"Those people out there, that old man, he was supporting me – us – in the rebellion we… unintentionally started. That's why he was killed. The support they were showing with the salute, they were showing it for this rebellion. President Snow knows everything that happens, when it happens. He even knew when I was in the woods with Gale and we kissed."

Rebellion. Katniss and Gale kissed. Dimly, as I start to feel sick, I think _I knew they had something_.

"Peeta, everyone is in danger. What happened at the end of the Games, with the berries, it's sparking a flame. The flame is the rising of upset in the districts, and it has to stop. I only meant for both of us to live with those berries, not for a whole nation to think I was trying to start something. And now, everyone is in danger. Me, my family, Gale, and his. Just… everyone we know."

I walk backwards, until my back slams into the wall, trying to wrap my mind around the words coming out of her mouth, I never wanted this to happen. I never thought this could even happen, didn't even see it as a possibility.

And she just continues on, "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone who had doubted believe I acted out of love. Calm things down. But, obviously, all I've done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished."

I can see that she's deeply upset by this, but, for this once, I can't be all about Katniss. "Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money." Damn it, I feel like rage is a burning fire inside of me. This involved me too, and I'm sick of being the one kept in the dark of everything. It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to the people that can possibly die because of my actions. Unable to control myself and feeling like if I don't do something with my hands I might punch something, I reach out and knock down a dumpy lamp sitting nearby. Hardly able to keep my voice from yelling, I tell them, "This has to stop. Right now."

I bunch my hands into fists to prevent myself from destroying anything more as I continue, my throat tight, "This – this – game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential," _Katniss is the one who manages to get everything done_, "or stupid," _I had no idea of anything that was happening in the Games or now,_ "or weak," _I'm the one of us two who actually lost a leg, the one of us who is overly emotional_, "to handle them."

Katniss shakes her head, "It's not like that, Peeta –"

But I don't feel any sympathy or patience that I usually have in spades for her, even as her stormy eyes reach out at me, begging for me to understand, because I just can't. "It's exactly like that!" There is no more leash holding onto my anger, keeping me from yelling. I'm sick of being the one who's never thought about, and I think of just how moments ago when she talked about how she and Gale and their families were in danger. Well, Gale's not here. But _I_ am. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off." I see my father's face in my head, then my mother's, Lucern's, Thyler and his wife… And all because of me they're in danger. A danger I was unaware of because apparently I don't warrant the truth, "So after all we went through in the arena, don't I even rate the truth from you?"

Haymitch comes up next to me, and I can tell he's actually trying to put me in a better mood, which is a role reversal that's just not working. "You're always so reliably good, Peeta." Yeah, that's why you're allowed to leave me out of all of your brilliant plans with Katniss. Because I'm so _good_ I just don't need any direction. "So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that."

I think of the man I watched die just minutes ago, and the other shots that followed it, "Well, you overestimated me. because I really screwed up today." I feel sick with the knowledge of the gift I gave to Rue and Thresh's families. I say as much to them, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get, and I walk to a creepy statue in the corner, and slam my fist into it.

Did they ever think that I'm so good in front of the cameras naturally, maybe, just maybe, I'd be even better when I have a purpose? I try to calm myself down, and take a few deep breaths. My blood cools a bit, but not enough as I would like, as I hear Katniss say something to Haymitch, something about how they were wrong not to tell me about all this back in the Capitol.

Wait a second. _Back in the Capitol_? That was months ago. They've known all of this for months. But of course, I'm just lovesick, pathetic Peeta. He's fine the way he is, so why bother him with all of this pesky life and death troubles? I think of the gifts Haymitch sent in the arena, ones I misinterpreted as him sending me messages, but they were actually to Katniss. "Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you? Something I wasn't a part of." Of course they did. Because even though I'm the one who gets cleaning up after drunken rage Haymitch detail, even after I'm the one who is always expected to be there for everyone, it's still Katniss and Haymitch as a team, and me lagging behind.

Katniss' answer of, "No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent or didn't send."

Sounds like a system to me. "Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up." Not even when he knew I was dying and that both Katniss and I could live together.

"Look, boy –" Haymitch steps forward to me, his hand out, like he's about to really tell me.

But I already know what he's going to say. I did want him to save Katniss in the arena, and I'm glad he chose her. I say as much. But this isn't the same as that. Now, it's not my life that's hanging in jeopardy, it's – potentially – hundreds of lives. "People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras." I realize after I say the words that is sounds like I'm taking a dig at her, but I'm too angry to care. "No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into."

Haymitch actually looks sincere as he says, "From now on, you will be."

But I know how good of a liar he is, and I narrow my eyes at him, "I better be." I need to get out of here. I don't want to be breathing this disgusting dusty air anymore, and I want to leave before I start apologizing for being so pissed off. I break off looking at Haymitch and make myself avoid looking at Katniss and her sad, apologetic eyes, before walking out the trap door.

I walk back to where we left everyone, and Effie jumps up as I walk back in, "Peeta, where were you? Where are Katniss and Haymitch?"

I vaguely gesture behind me and say, "They'll be along."

Effie nods and shrugs, "It had better be soon. We're running late. Oh, come on, let's get back to the train and get ready. They can meet up."

She leads the way, followed by Cinna, as Portia comes up to me, taking my arm in hers, "What really happened out there?"

I don't want to tell her; I don't want to put her in anymore danger than she needs to be in. But then I remind myself that she's already in danger, just by being on my team, and it's just as unfair to keep her in the dark to everything as it is for Haymitch and Katniss to keep the secret from me. I see how close we still are to Effie, who, though she doesn't deserve to have the wool pulled over her eyes, also wouldn't understand the reason or cause of any rebellion. "I'll talk about it on the train."

As soon as we get into my room, Portia sticks me in the shower and as soon as I'm rinsed, pulls me out, getting my prep team on me within moments. She's clearly impatient to get to the information I have, and as Leontius, Ravilla, and Talia, who fits right in with them, are hurried along and grumble in annoyance.

Portia sends them a smile as soon as they give me the last swipe of some sort of makeup, "Excellent job, guys. Sorry for the rush, but I have some new measurements to take for our boy here before it's time to go."

I smile after them, "Thanks."

They manage to smile back before shutting the door behind them. Portia turns to me, twisting her hands, "So?"

I look around, not seeing any cameras or anything, but then again, the Capitol could have them as small as a bug, and hidden anywhere. So I open the shower curtain and turn it on, waiting for steam to fill the room, and I pull her close to the water, so it'll block us out as I tell her in a whisper everything that happened in the square, and then what happened after, with Haymitch and Katniss.

When I finish recapping, I add on, "And now I think I was wrong to fly off the handle like that, but I just feel like they think I'm unimportant. Maybe I could deal with that, you know, that to them, _I_ don't matter all that much in the grand scheme. But I can't deal with the fact that they never gave any thought to the repercussions my family and friends could have, or how I could unintentionally, sentence someone to death. Like today."

Portia shakes her head, then pulls me into a hug, whispering, "Peeta, you are completely justified to be angry. You deserve to be just as much of a part of their little group as either of them are, and being left out of something like that is terrible. It _is_ unfair, to your family, friends, the people in the districts and to you. Don't discount yourself. You matter just as much as the next person. Katniss and Haymitch take it for granted."

"You're a great friend," I whisper back, and reach in to turn off the water. I feel better now, after talking about everything. But I also feel guilty. I'm not one who usually gets angry about things, especially not angry enough to break lamps and statues.

She kisses me on the cheek, and draws back, ushering me into a soft, gray suit, with a silver shirt, and a pink tie. I'm assuming Katniss is wearing pink. Trying to get myself in a better mood for the evening, I throw a wink at myself in the mirror, making Portia laugh. I smile in response, then take in a deep breath as we leave my compartment and go down to see everyone else.

As soon as Portia and I join everyone, Haymitch walks over. Unsurprisingly, I can already smell alcohol on him, as he takes my arm and leads me slightly away from the group as Effie start going over our schedule, muttering, "Yeah, Effie, we've already done it last night."

Then he turns to look at me, "I understand that you're mad because you're feeling 'left out' and I get that. But you have to understand the severity of this, boy. Snow is out for blood, mine and yours, and your girl's over there. Especially hers. She didn't know what she was inciting with those berries in the arena, but it got her put in the middle of a shit storm, and you shouldn't be angry with her for that. I told her to keep everything under wraps, from everyone. Including you. Neither of you asked for this, but you both got it. And if you're going to be mad at either of us, be mad at me. But if you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at President fucking Snow."

With that, he turns from me and walks away, and I go back to Portia just as she helps Effie by saying how she's heard that Effie is an expert in architectural design. It makes me chuckle, for the first time in too long. My amusement turns to bewilderment as Katniss hugs Effie and comforts her, but it makes sense as she turns it into a ploy to try to get out of the dinner party.

Effie, of course, turns the offer down, and then they leave, and I know it's my time to make my apology. Haymitch's little speech made me feel even more guilty about my anger toward Katniss, and as she slides her hand into mine, I look at her, "Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions." Even if she wasn't, is it right for me to blame her? We haven't exactly been on speaking terms for the past few months. And then I think of when I had my first ever interview with Caesar Flickerman, and I told the world of my love for Katniss, without telling her beforehand, "And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past."

She doesn't seem to be mad at me about earlier, though, and nods with a small smile on her face, "I think I broke a few things myself after than interview."

With the shattered lamp _and_ statue clear in my mind, I remind her, "Just an urn."

Now she looks at me, "And your hands." Oh yeah, I remember that now. Even so, it doesn't excuse my throwing-and-breaking-things rage. "There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?"

"No point," I agree, because I haven't really deliberately kept anything from her in months, and I really can't handle her keeping things from me, especially big things like the rebellion. After a moment of silence, I decide to take advantage of this vow of truth thing, and ask, "Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?" Because, honestly, after I found out she was lying in the Games about being in love with me, I figured she was also lying when she denied a romance with Gale.

I took her by surprise with my question, and her brow is furrowed when she looks at me with her big eyes and answers, "Yes."

I know I shouldn't be doing a mental victory dance entitled "I've kissed Katniss more than Gale has" but I wouldn't deny the extra spring in my step as Katniss and I walk down the steps into the party.

This is the first of the dinners we've been to, and I had been thinking before that Katniss and I would sit next to each other and be civil and friendly, but I would make sure there was that distinct line between being together and _together_. But with this newfound information about the rebellion, the mission is switched: now we will act _together_.

Her hand tightens on mine as people greet us and comment on what a lovely couple we are. Katniss smiles and nods, and I shake hands and agree, "It's all because of this beautiful woman on my arm."

Katniss gives me a look that tells me how impressed she is with my lying, and a fake grin on top of it. Of course, I wasn't lying and there's no reason to be impressed. Of course, I am, as she elbows me lightly in the side, "Oh, sweetie, be quiet. It takes two to be a lovely _couple_."

And so this goes on for the meal, which focuses heavily on wheat and other grains from here in the District. The band strikes up a livelier tune as we finish dessert and I offer my hand to Katniss, "May I have this dance?"

She grins up at me, "Of course."

No one else is dancing yet, but all eyes are watching as she and I start to break it down. We might not have much in District Twelve, even in the merchant side of town, but we do have rhythm. Soon, there's a circle around the floor, and people are clapping as we go, and now as Katniss and I make eye contact and smile, it's genuine, not like the fake stuff that's all been going on tonight.

I catch Haymitch's eye as he stands in the circle, and he holds his glass up to me in a mock-toast. Then the music stops for a moment, and Katniss and I face each other, breathing labored, but both grinning. "Been a long time since I've done that," she says.

"My brother loves to jump around to a beat. He does it all of the time, sometimes roping me in." I admit. Lucern can be a lazy bum, but when he's up, he's a fun, lively guy.

The music starts again, twirling around us in a soft, slow beat. As other couples filter around us, I offer my hand to her again, and this time, she takes it slowly, looking at me without a smile or laugh, and just with those eyes. I pull her in close to me, and loop my arms around her waist, as hers go around my neck. For a few seconds, we sway, and she keeps her eyes on mine.

I wonder if she can see that I'm still desperately in love with her.

Maybe she can, because she stops looking and puts her head on my shoulder, putting us even closer. As we just barely move, I close my eyes. This is Katniss in my arms, soft and warm and leaning into me, letting me lead. This is what I've wanted ever since I was five, just to hold her close, feel her heart beat against me, to feel like the whole world has melted away. Isn't this what everyone wants? To find that person who, in a roomful of people, can make it feel like it's just the two of you?

I close my eyes tighter as I feel tears sting the back of my lids. Because even though I've found the girl who makes me feel that way, I'm not the boy who makes her feel that way. And pretending isn't enough.

I'm reminded of this as Katniss whispers, "Why don't we let them catch us trying to sneak away?"

My voice is hoarse as I answer, "Yeah, that sounds good."

And so we do. A Peacekeeper stops us as we try to go through a dark doorway, and Katniss giggles as I excuse us. As we walk back to the table, I tell her, "That was brilliant." In response, she draws my head down and kisses me.

Later, when we're on the train and rushing to District Ten for our next appearance, I sit up staring at a blank easel. I don't think there's any way I can describe my feelings visually tonight, so I give up and start with what I've taken to doing the past few nights: walking around the train and going through each room until I think I'm tired enough to lie down and catch a few hours of sleep.

And then I hear it. A piercing scream that steals through the night and makes my heart beat ten times faster. Katniss. I run down the hallway, and yank open her door, half expecting to see someone in here, attacking her. But it's not a person who's torturing her – it's a dream.

As I see her thrash around, I run over and take her shoulders in my hands, shaking gently and keeping my voice quiet, "Katniss. Katniss, hey, wake up. You were just having a nightmare, come on."

Her eyes start to blink open, and her screaming stops as she looks at me, "Peeta?"

As she looks around, her location dawning on her, I feel my stomach clench in sympathy. Because the same thing happens to me every morning, "Yeah. I heard you screaming."

"It was…" she trails her off and closes her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath.

I let go of her shoulder when I realize I'm still holding, but can't resist brushing my hand over her hair, "I know. I'll go now."

But as I turn, she takes my hand in hers, "Wait. Stay with me. Please."

When she looks at me with pleading eyes, looking all tumbled from sleep, and so darn sad, I just can't say no. Even though I know I should, because doing things like sleeping in the same bed with Katniss does even worse for helping heal Lovesick Peeta than public love appearances, I can't. So I climb in under the covers with her, and she pulls my arm around her waist, settling her back against my chest.

She falls back to sleep rather quickly, but I can't make myself close my eyes. I hate myself for reveling in this moment. But I don't leave.

This happens for the next week and a half, into our first few nights in the Capitol. The mirror image of it, only the surrounding areas change. It's torturous pleasure, like I'm being shown the world I could have if this love was true, but at the end of the night, I know it's a sham. A sham for a good reason, but a sham nonetheless.

The next morning, after I went into my room and changed into my clothes for the day, I walk into the dining room for breakfast. And I'm met with Katniss looking down redfaced, Haymitch laughing raucously, and Portia giving me a look that would be like my mothers, if my mother was kinder. I reach up and touch my face, wondering if there's anything on it, and when I come into contact with nothing, I become confused. "What?"

Effie stands and walks to me, patting me on the arm and saying quietly, "We all know about how you and Katniss spent the night _together_."

I look back at everyone, who all know the truth about what happened, then at Effie, "You – you do?"

She looks so gravely serious as she says, "Now, I know you two are very much in love, but you're also very young, and –"

Oh god. I didn't even want to listen to this talk from my father. If Effie starts lecturing me about safe sex, I think I'll laugh in her face. To stop her from going any farther, I play my part of embarrassed boyfriend, and I reach up, scratching the back of my head, "Oh, sorry about that, Effie. Katniss and I just love each other so much…"

She waves her hands in front of me, "Okay, just… keep Katniss' promise that you'll be more discreet, all right?"

Keeping my face solemn, I nod, "Of course, Effie."

She gives me one last pat on the arm before walking in the opposite direction of the dining room. As I walk in and shut the door behind me, everyone bursts out laughing.

But that happiness doesn't last for the whole Tour. As the days go on, it's clear that no matter how much I show my love for Katniss, it's, in Haymitch's words, "not you who needs to do the convincing, boy."

And as much as I think Katniss is doing a damn good job acting in love with me – sometimes she even has me fooled, for very few stolen moments before I'm brought back to reality – I can see that she's not good enough for the people in the districts.

The people are angry. They, for the most part, are tired, and hungry, and overworked and just pissed off at the Capitol – at President Snow – and can I blame them? I've seen the same look in many people back in Twelve's eyes before. And I've always felt bad for them, felt sympathetic.

But right now, I can't. Because as much as I can see their side, I need to keep my family and Katniss safe, which means I need to calm their unrest. Even beyond that, I don't want to see any more bloodshed than need be; I'm someone who roots for peace. Not war.

And now we're in the Capitol – been here for three days already, and nothing is getting better. Haymitch paces the floor in front of the couch Katniss and I are sitting on, a flask in his hand, as he mutters, "We're running out of time."

"No kidding," Katniss says in annoyance.

Tensions are running high, and before Haymitch can snap back at her, I hold up my hand, "Please. You two, fighting between us isn't going to solve a thing. We just need a plan. We all just need to calm down and think."

Thankfully, they listen to me, and Katniss sinks into the cushions, arms crossed, while Haymitch keeps pacing and drinking, and I wrack my mind. What can we do, a last ditch attempt, to convince all of the nonbelievers that Katniss loves me? How can they believe that when it's just not true?

When I feel Katniss tense beside me, I know she's had an idea. When she doesn't speak up, I turn to look at her, confused. Haymitch also sees, and he stops pacing, "What is it, girl? Speak up."

I nod at her encouragingly, waiting, and she looks at me and Haymitch, "I think I have it… Peeta, you have to propose. In the public, where everyone can see, like tonight when we're with Caesar Flickerman."

And then my stomach sinks and my whole world flashes to darkness. Just pretending to be her boyfriend while knowing that she doesn't love me for the past week has been killing me. Now marrying her… I'd be ruining her whole life, forcing her to marry me, a man she clearly doesn't love, so much that she can't even convince strangers.

But I have to. She'll be unhappy and resent me for her whole life – suddenly I picture us ending up like my parents, and I shudder – but that's the thing: she will have a whole life. She will be alive. Her family will. … Gale will. Everyone she really does love will be okay and so will everyone I care about. Is there really any more that I could hope for?

The thoughts do nothing to cheer me up, and I look down at my hands while she looks at me expectantly, "Yeah. That sounds good." I practically choke on the words. Putting my hands on my knees, I push myself up, my voice sounding hollow to my own ears, "Excuse me."

I go into my room, my legs feeling like as I sit on the edge of my bed. Only moments later, there's a knocking on my door. I say nothing in response, but the door opens slowly, Portia poking her head in, "Peeta? I just wanted to drop off your suit for tonight a little early because –"

She cuts herself off, when she opens the door enough to see my face. I guess I look as awful as I feel, because she drops the clothes bag she was holding, and runs over to me, "What happened to you? Did you get into a fight? Was it Katniss again? I swear, that girl –"

This time I cut her off, "No fight. Married. We're getting married."

Her hands grip mine, "What?"

Miserable, I look at her face, "No one in the districts believes that she loves me. It's the most we can do, now. I'm proposing tonight. On Caesar's interview."

Now one of her hands comes up and brushes back my hair, "Well… it could be worse. You love Katniss, so marriage to her for you can't be all that bad, can it?"

"I love her, Portia. I've wanted to marry her since before I knew what marriage really was. But _she_ is going to be miserable married to me. I'm ruining her life with this, and by that, I'm ruining my own life." Before I can stop them, tears leak from my eyes, and I add quietly, "I never wanted this if it was going to be fake."

She looks at me sadly and strokes her hand through my hair once more, "I'm so sorry, Peeta. But you are the strongest person I know, taking Katniss into count. You will get through this, and so will she. And you listen to me – fake or not, any girl would be lucky to have you marry her, Katniss included. You won't be ruining her life or your own. Maybe you're just beginning it."

Coming around to what she's saying, I nod, "Just not the way I imagined it."

Now she pats her hand on my shoulder, "'Atta boy." She stands and pulls me up with her, "Now let's get you presentable for your proposal."

Hours later, Katniss and I sit, wrapped around each other onstage, with Caesar. He sits next to us, "You two are just as lovely a couple as you were the last time I saw you!"

Katniss does what she usually does when we're with Caesar – smiles and nods. I answer, "Thank you. And, might we say, you're just as lovely as the last time we saw you!"

Caesar and the audience laugh, "Thank you, thank you. Dow down to business – what has life been like for you two since you've gotten back in District Twelve?"

I keep the smile on my face as I think of all of the time Katniss and I spent not talking to each other, not making eye contact with each other, and generally going about our own separate business. "It's truly great. A dream come true. I've spent so much time waiting to be with her, and, thanks to these unlikely circumstances, I can finally have that chance." On impulse, I lift Katniss' hand to my mouth and kiss the top of it.

Caesar claps his hands and sighs, "That is just so beautiful. What do you two like to go together?"

"We stay in, mostly. Now that we're neighbors it's so easy to see a lot of each other without having to go into town. I've spent many a Sunday afternoon trying to teach this one how to bake." I lean forward toward Caesar, mock-covering my mouth as if I thought Katniss couldn't hear, "Don't tell her, but I'm afraid she is completely useless in the kitchen."

When there's some more laughing, Katniss pulls on my sleeve and playfully hits my arm, surprising me as she speaks up, "Oh, don't listen to him. If I don't pull out a loaf that isn't absolutely bakery-perfection, he swears it's inedible!"

Caesar keeps laughing, "Hey, I'm no chef myself. Don't worry about it, honey, I'm useless in the kitchen. Not all of us can be culinary wonders. We just have to find someone who is, am I right?"

There's an affirmative shout back from the crowd and he settles back in his chair, "So, you two kids are crazy in love, and you've been through the worst with each other. What are your plans for the future?"

It's time. Katniss squeezes my arm briefly as I start to slide forward, "Well, Caesar, I'm glad you asked."

I get completely off the chair and as I get down on one knee, looking up at her, I hear the crowd gasp as Caesar screams, "Oh my god!"

Katniss holds her hand over her mouth, eyes widening, like she's really surprised. I take her hand in mine and find strength in the soft warmth of it. Stroking my thumb over her palm, I speak the best way Portia and I thought the proposal would be: from the heart. "Katniss, you are so wonderful. You are strong, and intelligent, and caring, and it doesn't matter if you can't cook. I can do enough of that for the both of us. You mean so much to me, and you always have. I would be thrilled if you will give me the honor of being your husband. Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?"

Her hand tightens on mine and I feel the same twisting in my stomach as I did earlier, but not as strong. This is it. We had to have just saved everyone, right? She then throws her arms around my neck, and I turn, burying my face in her hair and inhaling, whispering, "I love you." And I am so happy when she _doesn't_ say it back, because it means that she really understands how much I'm going through here.

She pulls away and, moments later, we're both back sitting on the couch, and Caesar is positively gleaming with the information that I just proposed on his show. I can tell he wants to talk more, ask questions, discuss our future lives, but the audience is going so wild, he would have to scream to just be heard a foot away.

Things quiet down, just barely, as Caesar goes shock white and hops up from his chair, looking offstage, "Oh! President Snow!"

In automatic response, Katniss and I both get to our feet. The president grips my hand and slaps me on the shoulder, the same as any other man I know from District Twelve might do when they find out the news. That has to be a good sign, right?

* * *

**First off: I apologize for the ridiculously long wait for this, and I promise that from now on the longest wait for a new chapter on this will be a week at most.**

**Second: Please review and give me some feedback :)  
**


	7. The End of the Beginning

The only thing my surroundings are yelling at me is that I'm right – we did do a fabulous job convincing the nation of Katniss' love for me. Regardless of the fact that all throughout the Tour, I thought we were failing, we must have done something right. Snow's warm greeting to me seemed genuine, and after her own little encounter with him, Katniss is positively beaming.

They even banter together about the wedding. She's _cheery_, I realize as we are escorted to the party. I don't think I have ever seen her be actually happy. I mean, I saw her when we got off the trains and she saw Prim and her mom, and she was happy. And, if my heart hadn't been in shatters at the time, it would have been warmed. Because that there was real, honest _heartwarming_ happy.

This… this is creepy, borderline-manic happy. I'm just not sure what to make of it. Do I believe it? I mean, it does seem real, in a way. But my stomach twists unsettlingly, because it just doesn't look natural.

She's looking at all of the food around us, the gleam in her eye getting even more… feverish. When she turns and looks at me for the first time since I proposed, and her smile is just huge. And she tells me, "I want to taste everything in the room."

_What is wrong with you? What's going on in your head?_ I want to ask. But cameras flash in front of my eyes, and I know I can't express anything other than total happiness from our new engagement.

So I keep my smile up, and only use _3…2…1_ to keep my brows lowered in confusion, hoping to convey my questions to her unspoken, before returning to my usual camera happy expression. I look around, making sure my eyes widen as I see all of the food, and I say playfully, "Then you'd better pace yourself."

She nods solemnly, "Okay, no more than one bite of each dish."

"Good idea, darling." I agree, but I don't think she's listening.

From table to table we go, and I try to distract myself from Katniss with the food, but it's difficult. The job is made easier when people come over to talk to me. Every kind of person with tons of different questions or comments – one man comes over to ask me how I stand so evenly on my fake foot, while another asks me what kind of product I put in my hair to make it so bright. I tell them that the doctors in the Capitol made my leg the perfect size and shape as my old leg and that my hair is completely natural, respectively.

Though the people here are varied in personality and appearance, the farther along the tables of food we go, the more it becomes apparent that there is one thing everyone has in common – they love Katniss. Sure, I get asked questions, and they reach up and like to touch my hair. But all of their eyes feast on Katniss, while she breaks her solemn vow and feasts on the food.

And she doesn't even notice. It's something I love about her. See, you can love someone who's beautiful, and it's all well and good. Until you realize _that_ beauty is only skin deep. Someone to love unconditionally is someone who has substance. And one of the most endearing facets to Katniss' substance is how unself-involved she is. Really, it goes beyond not being self-involved. It's like she doesn't even notice at all how wonderful she really is, or how it draws people to her.

It just makes me smile, as I take one last bite of food, and put my hand to my stomach. "I don't think I can eat anymore. I might burst."

She looks at me, her eyes like a sad puppy's, "Me, neither. And look at everything we haven't even touched!"

Her genuine consternation at the issue makes me chuckle, but it dies on my lips as I hear from behind me an extremely inebriated Capitol voice ask me, "Whayerntyouuuuyetin'?"

Confused, I turn and see Katniss' prep team. Katniss answers the one who spoke, "I have been, but I can't hold another bite."

I gather that the woman – I think that one is Octavia – asked why aren't we eating. I think Katniss probably understood because she spends more time with them than I do.

Then their burst of laughter surprises me, and I think maybe they're in danger of alcohol poisoning or something as they lead us to a table, covered in wine glasses full of some indefinable strange clear liquid. Over the course of the party so far, I've seen a lot of people head over here for these, but I haven't figured out why exactly.

The male stylist is beaming, albeit lopsidedly and he kind of looks like he's slobbering drunk, but he proclaims that I must drink it.

And what the heck. There are a lot of things in this room – foods, drinks, people – that I've never had or seen before, but I haven't discriminated against any of them. So why start now? The glass stem is cool and extremely thin to my touch, and I have to admit, I am kind of nervous about trying it – what if it's part of the reason Katniss' prep team, and probably mine wherever they are, is completely hammered? Just a few sips, I think, as I lift the glass.

As soon as it touches my lips, Octavia screams, "Not here!"

I jerk the glass away from me and look at it suspiciously, and it sloshes over the rim. What in the world is in this glass? Maybe I don't want to even take a few sips. I look at Katniss, but she looks just as confused as I am.

Then the other woman, Venia, tells me, "You have to do it in there." And as I follow her pointing, I see she's talking about the… toilets? She continues on to tell me that if I don't go to the bathroom, I'll get "it" all over the floor.

"It"? What does she… oh. Drink the mysterious liquid that will make me hungry again, and make sure I do it in the bathroom because otherwise I will get "it" on the floor. I look at the glass again and it feels a lot heavier in my hand now. "You mean this will make me puke?"

They all laugh and confirm my suspicions, and I think about how happy they are about that fact that this makes them puke. I've never liked puking. Who does? My mother used to yell at my brothers and I when we did for making a mess, even when we were sick, and hand us a mop as soon as it was over.

Carefully, for some reason, the idea of puking making me ten times more cautious with the glass, I place it back on the table. No way am I drinking that. They look more like fiends now, and I want to get as far away from them as possible. Gently, I take Katniss' hand in mine and say, "Come on, Katniss, let's dance." Because she shouldn't be around _these people_ too much, in my opinion, either.

I pull her into my arms and, for once, I'm not thinking about the beautiful torture it is to fill my arms with her. I'm thinking about _these people_, who line their walls with food, so much that the hundreds of guests here can't finish it all. So what do they do? They vomit, so that they can stuff themselves a second time. A third. Fourth. Fifth, for all I know.

And that's just how they grow up in the Capitol. Does anyone who lives here even know how people in the in the Districts live? Do the people stuffing themselves know that in this one dinner party, the amount of food they are vomiting up could feed a family of five in the poorest of District Twelve? And, if they did know… would they care?

I've been blessed to have never gone hungry. And I don't take that lightly; my brothers and I were raised – gently reminded by my father and having it beat into us by our mother – knowing that we were extremely lucky for all of our stale bread. But that doesn't mean I don't know how most others live.

The picture of a starving Katniss from only four and a half years ago comes to the forefront of my mind and my chest tightens. And even though she's the one I've cared the most about, she's definitely not the only starving to death person I've seen around District Twelve. Even on the merchant side, we see the emaciated bodies the Peacekeepers have dealt with.

I'm disgusted with them. With everyone who drinks that vomit-inducing liquid, with everyone at this party. I can't keep my thoughts to myself, as much as I know there are people watching, listening. "You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you –"

_Calm yourself down, Peeta_. I feel like every muscle in my body is drawn so tightly I'm going to snap.

Katniss, with a dark sort of dry humor in her voice, says, "Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment. Really, this is nothing by comparison."

"I know. I know that." And I do. Kind of. The Hunger Games put on for their entertainment, where they root on who's going to die and who's going to live, where they sit on the edge of their seats _looking forward_ to the next death are miles worse than eating until they puke, then eating again.

But two wrongs don't make a right. It makes a lot left to be desired. And the only thing that can settle a desire that big is… well, something huge. Something like a rebellion. People need to fight for their rights. They need to stand up for themselves. I continue, "To the point where… I'm not sure what I'll do."

I think about how before, even when my conscience yelled at me that the people in the districts, more than being tired and hungry, are miserable and dying, I shushed myself. I told myself that I was doing what was right to help calm the people by convincing them of my and Katniss' fake relationship. But all I am doing is lying to the people that I want to help from the bottom of my heart. People that need all the help they can get.

And all I am doing is trying to make them live in their miserable lives and do nothing to help them. _Just like President Snow_. I'm doing his bidding. A man who kills and threatens and ruins lives, and I'm disgusted with myself. What have I been doing? What have we been doing? "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss."

"About what?" She asks.

_About what?_ She knows what, she has to know. Isn't she thinking exactly what I am? That, maybe even more than our families and people we love, we need to help others? That maybe it isn't right to just put ourselves over the hundreds of thousands of others who need support? "About trying to subdue things in the districts." I tell her, my desperation coming out in my voice.

Her eyes widen and she looks around. Right. There are cameras and the walls probably have ears. She's worried of what could come of my comments. With a deep breath, I try to put a lid on my anger at the Capitol, and I drop her hands, stepping back, "Sorry."

I don't know how to read her, not one bit, as she looks at me, trying to reason without any words, "Save it for home."

I want to ask what is with her tonight. What was up with the creepy happiness earlier – was it a good or bad thing? How is she really feeling about all of this? But before I can, Portia is coming over to us, leading over a man. With more effort than it usually takes me, I slip my camera smile on my face.

Before I can greet her, she gives me a small smile and then turns her attention to the man, saying, "This is the new Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee."

But… what happened to the _old_ Head Gamemaker? I can't ask, not here and now, but I try not to think the worst. Surprisingly, as most of the people who have spoken to us tonight have initially turned to Katniss, he looks at me. All I can think is _you're just Snow's puppet. A disgusting puppet_, as he asks with an overly large smile, "Young man, may I borrow this fine young lady for a dance?"

I guess this is custom for people in the Capitol. Though he thinks Katniss and I are engaged for real – I guess we are to the public, I realize with a pang – anyone who knows Katniss at all should know that I don't give her permission for anything. Even if we were in a real relationship, it's not up to me who decides who she can dance with. It's her. But right now in this place, that's not something I'm to say.

Even though I can feel her understandable reluctance, I gently put my hand on Katniss' shoulder and nudge her a bit, right into his hands. And I desperately wish I was in a position to say "Sorry, but no," because Katniss looks like she would like to be almost anywhere but with Plutarch Heavensbee. But not only would it not be me to say that to someone, Katniss and I aren't even together.

So I smile pleasantly, "Don't get too attached." Because she's a heartbreaker. Of course, I don't say that part. But I think it.

As they walk away, Portia and I watch them for a moment, before she touches my arm, "So how are you doing?"

I shrug, still looking at Katniss. But I'm… I'm mad at Portia, I realize. I adore Portia, and she's never wronged me in the slightest. But she is one of _these people_ who voluntarily wanted to work for the Hunger Games, for President Snow. How can someone I care for so much be one of these people?

She reaches over and takes a hold of my other arm, turning me to face her, while she scrutinizes my face for a few moments before dropping her grip on me, "I don't know." She shakes her head like she's mystified, "I can't read you. Usually you let me see right through you, and right now I just don't know."

Looking around, seeing no cameras in close proximity, I ask, "Why the Games, Portia? Why did you want to style for the Hunger Games?"

She lowers her brows, still trying to read me, "I didn't. It was Cinna, he really had his heart set on styling for the tributes. Of course, I love being a stylist, but my dream was always to own a shop. Suits and tuxedos and dresses and gowns. With my own line of shoes. I'm really into the shoes." She adds with a smile.

I feel tenseness sort of leak out of my shoulders, and I close my eyes, shaking my head for a second, to reopen them and see Portia, beautiful, intelligent, underrated Portia. The same woman who's been my friend for months. Unassuming, innocent Portia. "I'm sorry. I'm – I'm on edge. I've just been thinking tonight and it hasn't been exactly fruitful."

She reaches up and smoothes out the shoulders of my suit, "Sometimes I forget you're only seventeen, Peeta. You've got the head of a man working on those shoulders of yours. A smart man."

I smile, but only for a moment, before I ask, "Do you know why Cinna wanted to work here so badly?"

She frowns, "Actually, no. I mean, we met in school, both studying fashion. He was always very quiet and secretive. Friendly, for sure, but he held everyone at arm's length. And I've still never gotten into his mind, into his secrets." She looks so down that I have to pull her into my arms, feeling hers wrap around me, too.

Portia and I… we're the same. Truly, the same. She's in love with Cinna, and I with Katniss. Both of whom are well-intentioned, but who are secretive and can hurt those who love them by keeping their secrets. We would both follow the people we love anywhere, including the Hunger Games.

When we pull back, I can see her eyes brimming with tears, and I know there's more to her and Cinna's story than she tells me. But there's more to Katniss and myself that I don't tell her. Even us lovesick puppies have to have our own secrets. She reaches up and wipes her eyes with her thumbs, saying, "You know, sometimes I wish I had four wishes."

I raise a brow at her, "And what would they be?"

"Sometimes I wish that I wasn't in love with Cinna, and then that I owned that shop. Then I would wish that you weren't in love with Katniss." Then she winks, "And that you were older."

A laugh rumbles out of me, and for some reason, just Portia being Portia makes me feel immensely better, "You know, if you ever find a magic lamp, don't hesitate. _Sometimes_… that would sound pretty good to me."

She sighs, "It does. I guess I have to go clean up my face."

When she starts to walk away, I ask, "Hey, do you ever drink that… stuff?" I gesture to the table with the clear liquid.

She looks over, then back at me, making a face, "God, no. It's disgusting. At my first big party, someone got me to drink it… ugh. Never again. Why?"

I smile at her, "No reason. I'll see you later."

She waves, and I look out to see Katniss still dancing with Plutarch. They're in conversation, and I want to stay and wait here for when they're done. I want – even though it hurts – to dance with her more. But I make myself turn and walk away, because I know she doesn't want me hanging around all the time, not when I don't need to be.

I meander over to the cake table. On our rounds, Katniss and I didn't quite make it over to here. And now that I'm here, I regret that I didn't get over here earlier. These things are _amazing_; I've never seen anything quite like them. The icing, the fondant, the shapes, sizes, colors. Everything is done with such style and precision… I lean over to get a better look at them, trying to memorize what exactly they look like.

Then someone taps me on the shoulder, "Excuse me, but you are breathing on my cake!"

I stand up and turn, "I'm sorry. I was just –"

The man in the chef's uniform cuts me off, "Mr. Mellark! I apologize for making you apologize. If _you_ want to breathe on the cakes, it is quite all right."

I shake my head, "No, I won't do it anymore. Could I just ask you a question? How did you make that frosting on that cake right there? The texture is incredible."

"Oh, that cake! I didn't do that one, but I could go get Henri," he's already moving to go back through the doors.

"No, I don't want to trouble him. What about that one, right there?" I point to a cake on the far corner of the table, "Do you know how much flour was put into that fondant?"

This time, he's already halfway to the kitchen doors as he says, "No, but I will get the men who made them!"

Minutes later, he is back, leading three men and a woman out to see me. Two of the men answer the questions I had, and I have a discussion with the woman about how exactly to caramelize sugar to get it to mold the correct way. Their knowledge is blowing me away. They serve Snow… but I'm still dying to know their secrets.

After I've run through a whole gamut of questions and taken their advice and suggestions, I ask, "Would it be too much trouble to take a few pieces of the cakes with me tonight?"

It's almost comical seeing how all of their eyes widen. The man standing in the middle grins and claps, "Pieces of the cakes? We'll each go wrap up all of our extra cakes for you!"

They're all running away and I rub my hands together, thinking of all I am going to be able to do, to learn, with those cakes as my example. Then I hear Katniss' voice beside me, "Smart of you to use this as a learning experience."

I look at her and, for the first time since I found out the truth, since we've been pretending to be super in love, she is giving me a real smile. But underneath, I can see her aggravation, her impatience, and I smile back. I can tell she wants this night to end, and I couldn't agree with her more.

It's less than an hour later that we're back on the train, everyone has dispersed to their own rooms, and I sit on my bed. I haven't slept in here at all. And…I don't want to. I want to be with Katniss. So I wait for a while to hear her scream, which is when I always go in there. She wakes up and I soothe away her fears. And it's usually about now…

I stand and walk outside of her room, listening. But I don't hear her screaming or thrashing or even whimpering. Hmm. I lean my back against the wall and slide down, until I'm sitting on the floor. And I wait.

I doze off a bit… then wake up. And then my eyes shut and I'm napping again. it's only moments before I'm back in the arena. And Katniss is gone, and I can hear her, screaming for me, wanting me to help her, and –

My eyes snap open and my heart thunders, "Katniss." I whisper.

And even though, by all accounts, I shouldn't go in there, because I only go to make her feel better with her nightmares… or so I tell myself. As I turn the knob and peek in, I wonder if it makes me selfish that I want to curl up in there to help me feel better about my nightmares. I shouldn't… but I walk over to the bed, and lie down in my usual spot.

But above the covers tonight. I don't want to take advantage of her. I mean… we're going to spend our whole lives together now anyway. Or maybe we'll be those people who sleep in separate bedrooms.

I would understand. She sighs in her sleep and turns, burying her face against my arm, and I resist the urge to pull her against me. I hope we aren't those people. Because I still hope she's going to grow to one day love me. Maybe the longer we're together, the more she sees how much I do care about her, she'll reciprocate the feelings.

Or maybe we'll be married in public, and inside closed doors she'll wish I was Gale Hawthorne. As my heart sinks at the thought, I think it'll be more likely than her coming around to love me.

With those thoughts on my mind, I don't catch anymore sleep. Before I know it, light is streaming in through the window… and keeps streaming. Effie knocks on Katniss' door and announces that we've missed breakfast, and that we'll be arriving in District Twelve soon. Which means that is has to be past noon.

And then the shift happens. Katniss' deep even breathing pauses for a moment as she realizes I'm here, and she's quiet and still as she could possibly be, trying not to wake me. I inform her that it's a lost cause, "No nightmares," I tell her.

Her voice still groggy, she looks adorably sleepy and confused, as she asks, "What?"

Resisting the urge to just lean down and give her a kiss on the bridge of her nose that wrinkles when she's confused, I expand, "You didn't have any nightmares last night."

She looks a little mystified as she says, "I had a dream, though. I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. it was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice."

She looks like she wants to say something more, but she holds herself back. Unable to stop myself, I reach up and brush a few strands of her silky dark hair from her forehead and ask, "Where did she take you?"

Katniss bites her lip, "I don't know. We never arrived." She looks down, then back up at me, still biting the corner of her lip as she smiles, "But I felt happy."

"Well, you slept like you were happy," I tell her. She's so beautiful right now, not with her makeup from the prep team on, just in pajamas, her hair messed up from sleep, and just really _happy_.

She starts talking to me about my nightmares, and I don't want to tell her about them. But when she asks, I answer. When I can tell my answers are making her uncomfortable, I stand and leave, to go get ready for District Twelve. Just one dinner with Mayor Undersee and the Harvest Festival tomorrow, and then this madness is over… for another few months until the new Hunger Games begin and Katniss and I will mentor.

I wonder if we'll be married by then.

* * *

**Oh, Peeta. I know it serves no purpose, but I just like to voice my thoughts whenever I feel really attached to the boy. Like now. And Portia... Love 'em both.**

**Anyway, review please!**


	8. Peeta Pathetic

It's the Sunday after the Harvest Festival, and I'm in the kitchen. Surrounded by the cakes I got from the Capitol, with notebooks filled on the observations I've made about every aspect of the desserts I could find.

In my hands is a mixing bowl, and I'm trying to make a maple chocolate frosting. Then I hear Lucern say, "Pathetic."

I look at him, and see him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, and feet crossed at the ankle, "What?"

He walks forward, "I called you, Peeta Mellark, pathetic."

I roll my eyes, "Okay, Luc." I know when he's going to start on one of his spiels. He has several of them, because when he's bored and not working or napping or going on a date, giving me lectures on how to be more like him – which, granted, are usually entertaining – and judging by the setting at the moment, this one is going to be about how I shouldn't waste my time baking when I'm not in the bakery.

He starts just how I thought he would, "Look at you, staying up all night, making frostings. It's lame, Peeta. You know where you should be?"

Recalling some of his other gems, I suggest, "Lounging on the couch? Learning to play the piano?"

He gives me a smile, "No." Then he leans in close to my face, and says, "With your fiancée." But he doesn't say the word fiancée too nicely. It rather sounds like he's hissing it at me.

I'm unused to hearing this kind of anger directed toward me, especially from _Lucern_ who almost never gets angry. Even Thyler is more short tempered than he is, and it takes a lot to get him riled up as well. Thankfully, none of us inherited our mother's anger problems. Carefully keeping my voice even, I ask, "What about my fiancée?"

He grabs the bowl from me, forcing me to look at him. "Cut the crap, Peeta. You're home, with me, your brother. Your favorite brother!" I give him a look and he shrugs, "Fine, we'll pretend you like Thyler and me equally. The point is, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. Tell me the scoop between you and Katniss. I thought you guys were just pretending to be in love for the press. But this engagement… that's your real life, Peeta. That's your future."

I don't like lying to him, but I will if necessary. "I can't fully explain in words what's between Katniss and I, Luc. But we do love each other a lot." And some of that isn't even a lie.

His brows draw together and he shakes his head at me, "Who do you think I am? Some damn reporter? I'm your brother. And I've been here for the past few months – you and Katniss don't even act like acquaintances. So tell me what the hell is going on."

But I can't. I can't tell him about the rebellion, or about Snow, or… anything. I take a deep breath and look him dead in the eye, "Luc, Katniss and I don't date when we're around here because of how strict her mother is. But when we're by ourselves away from home, emotions get the better of us. That's how the proposal came up."

My brother shakes his head at me, "You're lying."

Trying to act indignant, I raise my voice, "I am not! _I love Katniss_ and when we get married, I will be very happy."

He throws the bowl that holds the frosting I've been working on for hours at the wall, and before I can say anything about it, he's screaming at me, "I'm not dumb, Peeta, so don't treat me like I am! I can see that you love her, okay? Anyone with eyes can see that. Every time you see her, you're like a tiny puppy, and every time she sees you, she's the same as she is with anyone else. In fact, I think she tries not to see you, as often as possible."

Feeling myself flush, I look down, "You don't know what you're talking about."

But he's still yelling, "The hell I don't! I know something is going on. You, for all of your lovey-dovey-ness aren't dumb, either. I have to believe you know she doesn't love you back. Gale Hawthorne was in all my classes at school. They are the pair that I figured was going to get married, because I'm pretty sure they love _each other_. So why would you propose to a girl who doesn't love you?"

My voice is weak when I answer, "She… she does."

Now he's back to a normal tone, "Now I can tell you don't even believe that. When you got back from the – when you got back, you were depressed. Mom thought you should be on a suicide watch." At that my head snaps up, but before I defend myself he holds up his hands, "Hey, I know you wouldn't do anything like that. The point is, you were down and out. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. So I just never said anything about Everdeen. But now, I'm not just going to sit by and watch you tie yourself down to someone who doesn't love you." He takes me by the shoulders, "I know I never give you any serious advice. But I'm serious now, when I'm telling you: don't marry Katniss. You deserve to be happy. Like, Thyler and Haylee happy. And I don't think she's going to give you that."

He has my shoulders still in his hands, and I feel it happening inside of me, but I can't stop it – my throat clogs and tears form in my eyes, leaking over. All of the pain I've felt on the Tour but held back comes out, and he looks unsure, but then says, "Come on," and pulls me into a hug. It's strange, I'll admit, but I hug back. Moments later, he pulls away, "I know I'm no dad, but I figured you could use one of them."

"Thanks." I tell him, meaning it, as I reach up and wipe at my eyes.

He is silent for a minute before he says, "You're not going to tell me what's really going on, are you?"

I shake my head, even as I do desperately want to tell him. I want someone who's not a reporter or Snow or anyone working in the Capitol or even Portia to tell me I'm doing the right thing. I want the brother I shared a room with for sixteen years, who taught me how to play ball, to give me his typical slap-on-the-shoulder and say, "I'm proud of you."

But he doesn't. He walks back to the door, "Well, I love you, man. If she breaks your heart, _when _she breaks your heart, I won't say I told you so, but I did warn you. You're too good for her."

Now I disagree, "You don't know what you're talking about."

He raises a brow, "No, I do. But whatever. I'm going to mom and dad's early. I'll see you there."

And then he's gone. I go over to the thrown frosting bowl and start to clean it up, wondering when my brother got to be smarter than I pegged him for. As soon as everything is wiped up, I walk out. I think the walk in the winter air would be good for me right now.

My brother's words echo in my head as I walk out of the Victor's Village. The entire scene is replaying, over and over. _She doesn't love you… Throwing away your future_. But… Lucern doesn't know what he's talking about, does he?

I kick at the ground. Okay. He does have a point. He's vocalized my own thoughts back at me, and I just don't like what I'm hearing. But I can't deny the truth in his words. No matter how much it hurts me.

And then, just my luck, there she is. Looking all rough and ready, and for once, I really am not excited to see her about town. Glumly, I ask, "Been hunting?" With Gale. Who she really loves. Who she can't have a future with because I'm standing in the way.

She shrugs, "Not really. Going to town?"

"Yes. I'm supposed to eat dinner with my family." Like I do every Sunday evening. But Katniss and I don't talk, so how is she supposed to know that?

"Well, I can at least walk you in," she says to me, and switches her direction completely. She looks nervous, and the closer we get to town, the more anxiety she shows. I'm a bit nervous myself. Katniss never associates with me here in District Twelve. She has certainly never changed her whole direction in walking just because she's seen me. In fact, I think she used to be happy if, when we ran into each other, we were going in opposite ways. Then she takes a deep breath and clears it all up, "Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?"

…

… Um. Just kidding. She didn't just clear it all up. I stop walking, and take a hold of her arm to stop her, too. Did Katniss Everdeen just ask me to run away with her? I've thought about this before. Living away from everything but her, I would bake and she would hunt and we would have kids… but in this fantasy, she loves me. My heart jumps, "Depends on why you're asking."

It's useless, and I know it, but … _please tell me you love me._ I would do anything, just for those three words. Who am I kidding? I'd do anything, anyway.

Then she dashes my hopes, and pulls me out of my fantasy where she loves me, "President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out."

I know I should care more about the uprising. And I do care. But… I don't know what to think about it. Good for them? Are we going to be killed? We. That reminds me. "By 'we' do you mean just you and me?" Of course she doesn't. Her family would be coming. And Gale Hawthorne, I imagine. "No. Who else would be going?"

"My family. Yours." I imagine trying to convince Lucern to hack his way out in the wilderness, or my parents leaving the bakery. They would never. "Haymitch, maybe." I doubt him, too.

My brothers' voice resonates in my head, _Gale Hawthorne was in all my classes at school. They are the pair that I figured was going to get married, because I'm pretty sure they love each other._ "What about Gale?"

She doesn't do a good job hiding the fact that she's upset right now, or that Gale seems to be the source, as she answers, "I don't know. He might have other plans."

I shake my head. Of course he would. "I bet he does." Because Gale Hawthorne goes out hunting and gets into fights and manages to charm girls out by the slag heap. Gale Hawthorne goes along with Gale Hawthorne's plans, and he's strong, and it's not surprising that Katniss wants that over me, the boy who bakes and paints and would roll over instead of being tough. _I called you, Peeta Mellark, pathetic_, I remember, as a sad smile tilts my lips, "Sure, Katniss, I'll go."

She looks up, "You will?"

"Yeah." I'd follow you anywhere. But with a rebellion in Eight, all of the other districts can't be far behind. And if Gale isn't coming, I don't think Katniss is going to go anywhere. Not without putting up a fight, and not without him. "But I don't think for a minute you will." And once I say it, the more I can see it. No, Katniss is definitely not a runner from problems.

I can tell I said the wrong thing when she looks at me like I betrayed her and yanks out of my grasp, "Then you don't know me. Be ready. It could be any time." Then she starts walking with a fierce pace, I don't really think it can be classified as a walk.

"Katniss," I try to get her to slow down, but she's not having it. But sometimes, especially in cold weather, when I try to kick my leg into gear it gets stuck, and I'm having trouble catching up to her, "Katniss, hold up." She does, but I can tell she's not happy. I said the wrong thing when I told her she wouldn't really leave. But even though I know it's the truth – and I know deep down she knows it too – I can live in a small pretend world for a bit, where we both ignore the upcoming reality. I tell her what's real on my end, as if that's in doubt, "I really will go, if you want me to." She still doesn't look not-pissed off, so I continue, "I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won't be making everything worse for everyone." Like my family members who will stay behind… Gale… the entire nation. She crosses her arms and looks down, and I try to think of something else to say about this little situation, but then I hear weird noises. I can't really describe it, but it's loud and unusual, and it sounds like it's coming from a crowd in the square. I look up, in the direction of town, "What's that?"

As Katniss looks up, confused, listening, I put it together. That whistling sound… it's like when my mother would throw something at us, full force, only much louder. Like a whip. And I've seen a whipping happen in the square before, but only from the bakery window before my father drew me back. And there was a large audience.

Oh god. I'm trying to think of who it could be, what it could be for. I mean, it has to be something abhorrent, if _Cray_ is whipping someone. I grab Katniss' hand, and start to run, "Come on."

We reach the square in no time, and I can't see who it is, but I try to peer over everyone. Not happening. I spot a crate near the sweetshop, which is directly across town from the bakery, and stand on it, craning my head above everyone, up to the center.

Oh no.

It's Gale. _Gale Hawthorne was in all my classes at school. They are the pair that I figured was going to get married, because I'm pretty sure they love each other._ I wish that statement would stop repeating in my head, regardless of how true it is.

In the second I have before I can find my voice, I try to take in everything. I can't see his face, because it's just hanging down, and he doesn't even have a back anymore. It's all just blood. But I know that's Gale. And Katniss is trying to get up here and see what I'm seeing. I move, shifting to take up the whole crate so she can't get up here, "Get down. Get out of here!"

But she's fighting me, and she tries to get up, "What?"

No. This would kill her. She would rather die than watch Gale die, I'm certain of it. And I can't let either of those things happen. I'm going to have to find a way to help him, and help her. All I know for sure is that she _can't_ see what's happening up there. "Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!"

_And I'll find a way to bring Gale Hawthorne with me, just please go_, I add silently. I reach out and try to take her hand, before she can do anything rash, but she gets away before I can, and she's already pushing through the crowd by the time I hop down off the crate.

I try to follow her, but the crowd is thick and I'm already feet behind, "Katniss, no!"

* * *

**There you have it. Dun, dun, dun what will happen to Gale? Who knows (besides... well, everyone). Please review!**


	9. Whipped

I push through the people, who don't put up nearly as much a fight against me as they did for Katniss, but she's still yards ahead of me. Just as I'm in the distance of seeing Gale being whipped over people's heads, I see Katniss step in front of him, and as the whip comes down, whistling through the air once more, a scream makes its way from my throat, "No!"

But it's too late, and she's down on the ground. Now I'm fumbling, trying to get through all the people, and the man raises his whip again, and I need to be there, because I'd rather switch places with Gale right now than have Katniss be hit once more.

I almost fall down in relief when Haymitch comes from basically nowhere, yelling, "Hold it!"

I don't hear what he's saying when he pulls her to her feet or any of the conversation that follows. I have just never been nearly as happy to see Haymitch as I was just then. I continue pushing my way through the people, and finally, _finally_, I make it to the front, and careful to be gentle and not let my desperation show in my hands, I take her arm, and wish Haymitch would be gentler with her.

The man dressed as a Peacekeeper sneers, "He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?"

_She's in love with him_, "He's her cousin. And she's my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us." But over my dead body will you touch her again.

A woman that I don't know speaks up from the crowd and states some made up rule about whippings. It sounds actually good, but it's clearly made up, because I don't think anyone in town knows proper whipping rules… in fact, I don't think old Cray knew proper whipping rules.

But what she said works, and the, I guess New Head Peacekeeper, walks away. Then Katniss is stumbling out of my grasp and over to Gale, trying to untie him. I wasn't even sure he was still alive until I stared for a good thirty seconds at his back to see it slightly moving. The poor guy.

Greyson Holler, who works in the shop next to mine, looks around to see if any of the Peacekeepers are still in eye sight before he quickly passes me a knife, then walks away. I walk over, careful not to bump into Katniss, and cut through the knots. When he starts to fall forward, I try to catch him, but I don't because I still have the knife in my hand. We have to get him help.

Haymitch observes, "Better get him to your mother."

But we have no way to get him there. "Stay right here," I say to Katniss, as if she's going to go anywhere with Gale like this.

And I jog over to Tilly Varney, who is heading back into her clothing shop. My mother and Tilly have been friends for years. "Tilly, we need your countertop. We need to help Gale."

"Gale?" She asks me quizzically.

I point to where he lays on the ground, "Gale. And we need to get him to help, but we can't carry him, not in his condition. Please. I'll pay you. Name your price."

She gives me a measuring look, then looks around, seeing everyone disperse. "Give me a minute. I'll bring it over to you."

"Thanks Tilly," I smile at her, and she nods back. I make my way back to where Haymitch, Katniss, and a few stragglers that I don't recognize are. "We're getting a countertop. Give it a minute."

I try to avoid looking at Gale's back while we wait. It kills me, this sympathy I'm feeling for the man I feel like I should hate. But if anyone could look at him right now and not feel compassion, then I don't want to know that person.

Tilly is working her way over to us, and drops the counter next to Gale, "Just don't tell where you got it."

While Haymitch and the men I don't know load Gale onto the board, I take out my wallet and give Tilly everything I have in it. "We won't. Thank you so much."

I turn back in time to be beckoned over to lift him with the others. He's a heavy guy, I think. He's got a lot of muscle. And he's tall. More than my own 'average' height. Though… he's got more of an agile runner's kind of build, and I think my shoulders might be broader.

What am I doing? I'm comparing myself to Gale is useless, not to mention terrible because of the condition he's in. I'm probably not even a blip on his radar. Of course Katniss would go for him.

Some guys who work in the mines, probably with Gale, are helping Haymitch and I carry him to Katniss' house, and they discuss what they think happened. All over a hunting accident. All of this over hunting. I don't understand why he was out hunting in the first place… Katniss is his best friend, and I'm sure she wouldn't let him and his family go without.

Of course that's probably a whole part of that "Seam pride" that Katniss once insisted – and was correct upon assuming – I wouldn't understand. Of course, I don't understand at all. I don't think favors should be viewed as putting people in debt that needs to be paid back. They should just be accepted and praised.

But not everyone thinks the same way I do. And they shouldn't, because that would make for a boring world.

Wait a second. Gale wasn't the only body up there. Interrupting them, I ask, "What about Darius?"

One of the guys answers, "After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn't do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread's arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him."

With a grimace I look at Gale's back, and I think of the terrified looks on everyone in the squares' faces… and of the apparent new Head Peacekeeper, who looks like he can't wait to come down hard on all of the 'wrong-doers' of District Twelve. Nothing good seems to be waiting for any of us.

Haymitch voices my thoughts, and I'm surprised that he seems to be reading my mind, which is different than his usual forte. Before long, as snow falls around us, we arrive at Katniss' house, where – strangely enough – her mother is waiting for us, like she knew what was happening. And she doesn't even need an explanation before she starts treating him.

As Katniss watches her mom help Gale, I watch Katniss watch them. The pain, the anxiety, the sheer _love_ on her face is just shining through, and I feel sick with misery. She would never feel this way about me, if I were close to death. I _was_ on the brink of death with her back in the Games, and she had an urgency when she was with me, but not nearly this much care. Not even close.

Katniss ignores her mother when she orders her to go get some more snow to put it on her poor, painful looking eye, and I'm immediately heading to the door, grabbing a face cloth on the way out to get it for her, to get out of there and away from feeling bad for Gale and Katniss' despair. The cold air stabs my lungs, but I take deep breaths of it anyway.

I'm agonizingly jealous of Gale Hawthorne which, I have been several times before, but this time it's just wrong. I'm jealous of a man who has just been beat within an inch of his life. Pathetic Peeta is starting to have a ring to it, I think.

With another deep breath I reach down and fill the cloth with snow. This isn't me, this jealous person. And I won't be that guy. I will be the guy who, though a pushover, will be there for Katniss whenever she needs me, and will help out with Gale whenever need be. Because not only was he just doing what he needs to do to survive here, but I am partially responsible for all of this mess.

We have a new Head Peacekeeper because of Katniss and myself failing to act to President Snow's satisfaction. If he had been satisfied, everyone for the district could have stayed the same, with Cray in his regular position, and Gale would have been fine, like – I'm assuming – every time he's ever gone hunting before.

And how to help Gale right now, judging by what very little I know about him, is to help Katniss. That's getting two birds with one stone, as my father would say. So I walk back up the steps and open the door.

I think of how upset I was during the Games when Katniss was hurt and in trouble, and how wretchedly worried I was when she was unconscious next to me with her injuries. She's feeling that way right now for Gale, and I wouldn't want anyone to have to go through that.

Walking up to her, I try to hand her the ice, speaking softly, "Here, you need this for your eye."

But I don't even think she hears me, just staring at Gale in despair, and her legs look like they're just going to give out from under her. "Okay, come on." I wrap my arm around her waist and lead her to a chair just a few feet away. Her eyes don't leave Gale.

When she's sitting, I kneel next to her and try to give her the cloth again, but she isn't having it. So I brush her hair out away as gently as I can, and press the snow to her face. I keep an eye on her as I apply slight pressure, to see what hurts her, but she doesn't wince at all. Staying where I am, I look up when Haymitch inclines his head toward the door, "You two, get home. Storms getting bad."

Both of them exchange looks, then look over at Gale, before slowly getting their jackets on. I look between them, Gale, and the snow out the window before whispering, "Haymitch."

He looks down at me, "What?"

"Pay them." He looks down at me skeptically, and I roll my eyes, "They helped us carry Gale here, and look at the snow outside. When do you think they're going to get down in the mines again?"

He shakes his head and mutters something – all I hear is "too damn nice" – before I see him turn away and reach into his pockets. I shift my attention from him to Gale. Though we differ incredibly in our personalities, we both love Katniss. I have to believe he would do anything to protect her. I remember those months ago, when he came to visit – and I use the term visit loosely – me in the Justice Building after I was reaped. He told me if I killed Katniss he would kill me.

Direct, commanding, harsh, loyal. Some people have trouble reading others, and after being duped by Katniss in the arena, I thought for a while that I was one of them. But I have since come back to my confidence that, in most cases, I have a good judge of character. And though I don't really know Gale, I would think that he's a man of respect and integrity. He has his own moral code, though it's unlike my own, I have to admire that.

I don't know how long we sit here in silence, before Gale starts to stir and Katniss starts going haywire, screaming about the medicine. While she screams at her mom, she knocks the snow I was holding to her face to the floor, and her mom makes eye contact with Haymitch and I, and orders, "Take her out."

Haymitch makes eye contact with me, and goes to the other side of Katniss, while she is fighting our grip on her arms and screaming words that I've only ever heard my mother use – on her worst of days. She is kicking and screaming and we have to literally lift her off the floor and drag her into a spare bedroom, and she still isn't giving up.

It reminds me of Thyler's wedding rehearsal, when one of Haylee's cousins made a pass at Thyler. When Haylee found out… man she went berserk at her cousin, and I had to help Thyler carry her out.

I'm brought back to here and now when one of Katniss' elbows catches me in the jaw and I get a tighter grip on her, as Haymitch and I lift her over the bed, both of us taking an arm and a leg and holding her down while she tries to kick and punch, still screaming. Haymitch grunts, "The damn girl is more trouble than she seems."

Finally, I'm not sure if it's seconds or minutes later, when the fight leaves her, and she dissolves into the mattress. I look up at Haymitch, "One…"

He continues, "Two…"

"Three." We both lift our hands and hold them up in the air, taking a few moments to watch her, but all she does is curl into a ball and sob.

I feel bad. Terrible, watching her in this much pain. But I have to let her. There are some things even worse than nightmares, that she has to face on her own. Haymitch starts toward the door, and peeks out, then shuts it, turning back to me and barking at Katniss, "Keep up the crying, girl. Loud as you want."

I don't even know if she knows he's still here. But he takes my arm and walks right back to the edge of the bed, "Now I've heard some talk of things from people. I've been led to believe you know what's happening."

Who? Who knows anything to talk about? Who knows that I – Katniss – knows anything? With a worried look down at Katniss, I say, "We didn't fool President Snow. We didn't subdue anything in the districts, and there's been an uprising in Eight." Then I pause, and think about our conversation from earlier. _Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?_ "She wants us all to run."

Haymitch raises his brows, and I expect him to say something. Nothing in particular, because I don't know what he would say about this at all. But I'm pretty sure he would disagree – after all, where would his liquor supply be when we were on the run? I'm sure Haymitch wouldn't mind going through a war as long as he had his alcohol to get him by.

When Katniss' mother comes in, I decide it's time for me to leave the room. She's always seemed to dislike me, and I'm sure she doesn't appreciate my being around when she's checking up on Katniss. I walk out, down the hall to the kitchen where Gale's mother sits with him, stroking his hair gently, while Prim mixes something at the counter.

His mother gives me a look that tells me I'm clearly not wanted here. She's probably been in the same boat as my brother Luc, assuming that Katniss and Gale would be married someday. She clearly knows that her son loves the same girl I do, and she's already decided he's better for her than I am. That's probably true.

Of course, she doesn't know me. We've only ever spoken a handful of words to each other – maybe – when she's been in the bakery. But she watched, presumably along with Gale, night after night while I "stole" her son's, for all intents and purposes, girlfriend. And now, while she watches her son struggle to remain conscious, not wanting me here is really nothing for me to take offense at.

But I'm not going anywhere. And if I have to be here, I might as well make conversation. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hawthorne. Disastrous circumstances, but I'm glad to make your acquaintance all the same."

She spares me a look, raising a brow, and I give her a small smile. She doesn't say anything back, but it doesn't stop me from offering my point of view on the situation. "I know we're never met before, but I think you're a wonderful woman. The way you rushed here, to sit by your son like this… it's admirable."

Her voice is harsh as she tells me, "I'm his mother."

I think of my own mother, and look at the ground, "That doesn't necessarily mean the same thing to the same people. I mean, the only time I've ever been hit with anything, it's been because my mother threw it."

Now she looks up at me, her eyes not as hard, but not giving, either, "You want my sympathy?"

I think of how she must inherently resent me anyway; she works to the bone to provide for her family, and I've been given a blessed life to be born into the merchant side of town. If what happened to Gale had happened to me pre-Games, my family – though it would cost them heavily – could have afforded to take me to the district doctor. I shake my head, maintaining eye contact, "No. I'm just saying that when I almost died," I tap my fake leg, "I doubt my mother was even half as concerned as you are right now for Gale. It's nice."

She looks like she's considering something – me – and she breaks eye contact, looking back at Gale, "Yes, well… I don't know your family, Peeta Mellark, but I know plenty of people around town who were biting their nails for you."

"That's very lovely, thank you for letting me know." I tell her.

Once again, she looks at me, measuring, and this time I think I might have passed some strange test, "You're one odd boy." Before I can try to deduce what she means by that, the doorbell rings.

I look up at Prim, who sets her bowl down in confusion "I'll check who it is." But dread fills my stomach and my mind jumps to the worst assumption there can be. Katniss and I failed terribly in our act, and President Snow has sent people to take care of it.

All I can see in my mind's eye is sweet little Prim opening the door to a giant, bloodthirsty Peacekeeper, and I stand, holding my hand out to stop her, "No, no. I'll check. You should keep making that cream."

She nods, but before I can take two steps to the door, Katniss' mother, followed by Katniss and Haymitch, are back, and cut right in front of me. I almost faint in relief when it's Madge at the door. She's only there for a few moments, but in that time she gives Mrs. Everdeen medicine to use for Gale.

Wait a second… it was Madge at the door? With, I think as I watch Katniss' mom immediately inject the stuff into Gale, special, really good, legitimate medicine? "What is that stuff?" I ask when I see that it helps Gale relax almost immediately.

Mrs. Everdeen tells me that it's morphling from the Capitol.

Okay, that's all well and good, but why did _Madge_ give us morphling from the Capitol to help Gale? Going even farther, she braved the snowstorm to get here, and from her house that's over a twenty minute walk. Huh. I voice my thoughts, "I didn't even know Madge knew Gale."

Hold up… Madge and Gale. _Madge_ and _Gale_… maybe Gale wasn't so completely stuck on Katniss like I thought. Well, maybe he is, but he certainly isn't just waiting idly by for her to be with him. And Madge always did have a thing for the darker haired, mysterious men. I know this from all those times my mother tried to set us up.

Katniss answers me, "We used to sell her strawberries."

But I can tell from her tone even she knows that whole thing wasn't just about strawberries. And she is really not happy about it. Even the relationship I'm envious of between Katniss and Gale has it's problems.

I go back and sit down in my chair, and Haymitch sits next to me, but doesn't talk. He's pensively staring into his ever present flask, and I want to know what's going on in his mind, about the uprising, about us running. But he doesn't say a thing.

While I think about what he might be thinking – is the rebellion a good thing or bad? How dumb does he think the running plan is? – there's a bowl put in front of my face. I look up and see Prim handing it to me. "Thanks." I say as I take it. The bread settled on top of the stew catches my eye, "Hey, I didn't make this."

She smiles and shakes her head, rocking back and forth on her feet, "I did."

A grin takes over on my face, "Well, great job! The shape, texture, form… it all looks amazing. I see you took my pointers," I tease.

She grins eagerly, "Maybe you could talk to me about frostings next." Her voice turns dreamy, "I've always wanted to be able to frost those pretty cakes."

I pat her on the shoulder, "Of course. Any time you want to learn, you just let me know."

With a nod, she says, "I will." And moves on to give Haymitch his food.

Everyone eats in quiet, and it only takes a few minutes until everyone is done. After all of the dirty bowls are collected, Mrs. Everdeen takes Mrs. Hawthorne's hand in hers, "Hazelle, we already have the guest rooms all set up. You should stay in one tonight, maybe for a few nights."

She shakes her head, "No, I can't. Leevy is still with the kids, and I think Posy's coming down with something. I need to get back to them. I know you'll do the best for Gale that anyone could." She stands and brushes a kiss across Gale's forehead.

"I can stay and help any way I can." I offer, and give Haymitch a _look_, which prompts him to make the same offer.

Mrs. Everdeen waves her hands, "No, no, we've got it. Thank you both for everything, but you should go home to bed."

Haymitch is out the door first, and Mrs. Hawthorne and I get our jackets on at the same time. When we open the door, I can see that the snow has gotten worse and worse in the hours since we've been inside. And she's supposed to be walking back to the Seam in this weather… "Mrs. Hawthorne, could I walk you home?"

She bristles, "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to make you walk five times as long in this weather as you have to."

"You wouldn't be making me; I'd be happy to do it." I don't want to just let her walk to her house in this weather, by herself at night.

She shakes her head, "No, I can walk by myself. Thank you." And she starts on her way, hunched against the wind.

I feel terrible, seeing her with her thin jacket. She has on probably three layers, but all of them are old and worn. "Wait! Mrs. Hawthorne!" I start to run to her, and she stops, turning to me as I unzip my own coat.

I got it from Portia, and it's thick and puffy and does a magnificent job keeping me warm. By the time I reach her, it's completely off of me, and I hold it out to her, "Please take this for your walk."

She looks exasperated as she yells over the wind, "Boy, I told you, I don't need your help!"

Without waiting for her to agree, I wrap it around her shoulders, and zip it up, right over her crossed arms. Seam Pride, I think, and, as I start to feel the snow chilling me to the bone through my thin shirt, I say, "I owe you. My family stopped hiring you when I got back from the Games, because I bought them a washing machine. So really, this is the least I could do. Especially in this weather. Please."

I'm glad when her shivering stops and she thinks over my plea, nodding curtly, "Fine. I'll have it back to you as soon as possible."

I wave it off, trying to come up with something quickly. "Actually, I was going to get rid of it soon. It doesn't really fit me right, getting a little tight around my shoulders. Hey, you have a son who's smaller than Gale, right? Rory? Maybe he could use it, since I was throwing it out anyway."

She narrows her eyes at me, but I can't imagine a good mother like her would turn something like this down for her son. "Thanks. I have to be going now."

I nod at her, and turn away myself. I'd like to watch and make sure she at least leaves the Victor's Village safely, but I'm freezing into a popsicle out here. Running back into my house, it's not until I'm stripped down to my underwear that I realize the lights are all out and there's no sound coming from anywhere. "Luc?" I call out. "Lucern?"

And then I realize. Family dinner was hours ago. Still in just my boxers, I jog down the hallway to the phone, picking it up and dialing the bakery. It rings for a long time, before it's picked up, "Hello?"

"Dad, it's me. I'm sorry I missed dinner, there was –"

He cuts me off quietly, "Don't worry about it, son, I know. How is he?"

I think of Gale's torn up, bloody back, and the new medication he has, "He's strong. He'll be okay. How are all of you, with the storm?"

"We're all fine here. Thyler and Haylee left early enough they made it back safely. Luc will be staying here until the storm passes, though… are you going to be okay in that house by yourself?" I can hear his concern edging in.

I look around, the darkness all that's keeping me company. I don't want to be here in this big house. I want to be in the small apartment above the bakery, with my dad and Luc, even my mom, while Luc entertains with shadow puppets like he's always done in storms like this, ever since we were little and he realized he had the comedy gene. But I make my voice bright, "Yeah, don't worry about it, dad. I'll be fine. Get some baking in, maybe even sneak in and clean Luc's room. I'll get to the bakery as soon as I can after the snow passes."

He doesn't call me out, but I don't think he believes me, "Well, I'll be down in the bakery every day, so if you get lonely up there, just give us a call."

"Of course. I will. I have to go, and get some pajamas on. I'll talk to you soon. Love you."

"Love you, too, Peeta." And then the line crackles and goes dead.

* * *

**Oh, things are just getting good. Please tell me what you think!**


	10. Everything Changes

After my father and I talk, I hang up the phone and trudge upstairs, slipping on some of the comfortable blue pajamas Portia made for me. I think they're made of something called 'silk' but I can't be sure. Then I slip into bed, but even under my covers I still shiver. Wrapping the comforter around myself, I walk down the stairs, into the living room.

Kneeling down in front of the fire place, I reach in and start the fire. There's a switch on the side that you can flick to make it start, but I'm not really a fan of it. Just the idea that one little move like the flick of a switch can cause the sudden eruption of flames… no. It's unsettling.

As the fire works itself up, I back up and sit on the couch, still wrapped in my blanket, warmed by the blaze. I don't know when it is that I doze off, but soon I'm in the Capitol, walking along the hall of the Training Center. Not on the District Twelve floor, but downstairs, where we do the interviews with Caesar.

Something around the corner rustles. "Katniss?" I ask.

But it's not Katniss who steps around the corner. It's Snow, giving me his big, big smile. "No, Peeta. You know what's happening to Katniss. She hit the switch and didn't put out the flames, and now she's going to pay."

"Where is she?" And then I hear her screaming, from somewhere far away. Terror drenches me, and I turn away from Snow, taking off in the direction of the screams. But no matter how far I run or how fast, her cries for help are always too far away.

I come awake with a jolt, putting a hand over my heart, which is beating like I actually did just run the way I ran in my dream. I can still feel the fear lodged in my stomach, and I throw back the comforter – not like I need it now, I'm covered in sweat – and walk to the window. Even though I know Katniss is probably at her home safe and sound, after all it's only been a few hours since I last saw her, I still have to look and check that she is all right.

After all, Peacekeepers can come at all times of night, right?_ She hit the switch and didn't put out the flames, and now she's going to pay_. But through the curtains in her house I can make out the outline of a shorter person downstairs, walking with a taller one. The taller one could be Katniss or her mother, but either way, they don't look like they're in a panic. So everything over there is fine.

As fine as it can be with a beaten-half-to-death boy in their kitchen.

I'm definitely not catching anymore sleep tonight, I think, and go into my own kitchen, to the pastime that soothes me even more than painting. Up to my elbows covered in flour, my hands sinking into the soft dough… it's more comforting than anything I can imagine, short of holding Katniss in my arms. Painting is cathartic as well, but with that I have to reflect and contemplate. And right now, I don't want to think.

Baking eats up my time, and by the time shafts of light peek in, I have five loaves done. I should stop here, so I can save up my supplies enough to be able to bake every night. Cutting the end off of one loaf, I eat it and make my way upstairs. Time to head back to the Everdeen house. At least there I'll be doing something productive instead of sitting here, wondering what's happening, or what's going to happen.

Pulling on some pants and a long sleeved shirt, I make my way downstairs, getting my boots and digging out one of the other winter coats Portia gave me. Then I go into the kitchen and grab the four loaves that I haven't cut, and go on my way. The snow is still falling so thickly I can't see a foot in front of my face, and it's lucky I live so close, and that my house is identical to hers, so I know exactly where to go.

I walk up the steps and knock on the door. I wonder if anything has changed since I left last night. Thinking of the severity of the whipping, I would bet not. No one answers. They're probably all sleeping. Well, I can just drop in, leave the bread, make sure Gale's doing all right and slip out again.

The door isn't locked, and the knob turns swiftly in my hand. As I step in, I see Gale still laying on the table… my stomach sinks as I see Katniss next to him. Of course she would be, I think dimly, she wouldn't want him to be alone in this. She's too good for that.

Look at them. Even while they both sleep in uncomfortable positions, their faces still turn in each other's direction, only inches away. Their dark hair almost touches. They look so similar, their attitudes etched into their faces even now. Looks, attitudes, personalities… they are so alike, how could anyone else even try to break in to their little world to compete?

They can't. _I_ can't. And it is killing me.

I walk closer to them. I am the holder. Whenever Katniss and I would sleep next to each other, it was always me who had my arms wrapped around her. Sure, she willingly lay in my embrace, but she never really wanted me there. Never held onto me, the way both she and Gale are holding onto each other's hands.

Then again, she doesn't love me at all the way she loves Gale, so it makes sense. With a sigh, I look around. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen must be sleeping. And even though Katniss wouldn't want to leave Gale, she should go to sleep comfortably in bed, especially with that eye of hers. It should be resting on a pillow, not a table. I walk to the counter and set down the bread before reaching down and gently shaking her shoulder.

Immediately, she sits straight up, looking around. Then she looks at me and relaxes, "Go on up to bed, Katniss." I tell her. When she looks at Gale, I reassure, "I'll look after him now."

She nods, but doesn't get up, first looking at her hands, then at Gale, and then back to me, "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running –"

_Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?_ So much can change in such a short time. "I know. There's nothing to explain." After all, I knew before she did. I knew yesterday she wouldn't run, especially not if Gale wasn't running as well. And not only did I think Gale Hawthorne wouldn't be the type to run, now he's in no shape to do so even if he wanted to.

While she slowly stands up, looking around the kitchen, I take a seat a few feet away from Gale. I wait for her to go upstairs, but she just looks at me, pity written all over her face. She starts talking, "Peeta –"

But I cut her off, "Just go to bed, okay?"

She doesn't argue with me, and I'm glad. I don't want her to feel sorry for me, and I don't want her to give me any meant-to-be comforting words, when I – quite frankly – just don't want to hear them. Do I wish she didn't feel the way she does about Gale? Yes. But I know better than anyone that you can't choose who you love.

After I hear her trudge upstairs, I lean back in the chair and look at Gale. I have never spoken more than a sentence to him before, and right now is my chance to say anything without any possibility of having my ass kicked. Which, I think, is a big possibility to a man who says something to Gale that he doesn't want to hear. An even bigger possibility for me, for… obvious reasons.

"You're a lucky guy, you know. She loves you. She'd do anything for you." Of course, he doesn't respond. "Then again, you might be saying that I'm the lucky one here. After all, judging by the way things are going, she's going to be my wife." I look at him with my eyebrows raised, "Still nothing to say? Strong but silent type, I see."

I shrug, "Okay, maybe this isn't the time for me to be a funny guy. But in all seriousness, I shouldn't be jealous of you. And you shouldn't be jealous of me. Neither of us are getting what we really want in this situation. And even if we were, it doesn't solve any of the bigger problems going on here."

Leaning forward slightly, I study his face, which looks a lot less harsh right now than any other time I've seen him. "But you know that, of course. I bet this is all right up your alley. You seem like the type of guy who will fight for what he wants, damning the consequences." I kick back again, "That's where we differ, though. Sometimes I feel like all I think about are the consequences."

I stand and walk to the bread and get a knife out of a drawer, slicing two loaves for the Everdeens, talking to Gale over my shoulder as I do. "I'm sure Katniss told you about her plan. I would be willing to bet that even though you love her, you don't want to run away. You want to fight. See, I don't really know you, but at the same time, I _know_ you."

When all the bread is cut, I take a piece and walk back to the table, studying his gruesome back, "No, you wouldn't have ran. I would be willing to bet you'd rather die fighting to be free than flee from the problems. Yeah, your dream is to be out of this life by having the rebellion. My dream would be to live and love."

I wait for a moment in silence, "I half expected you to laugh right there. You're much more sensitive than I'd have pegged you to be. Or maybe it's because your unconscious." I bend down and look at his face, "Still not ready for jokes? It's okay, I understand."

I look up when I hear stirring from upstairs, then back at Gale. I nod at him, "You know, I think we have a much better understanding." Reaching down, I put my hand on his head and give it a quick pat, "Good talk, buddy."

Walking over, I take my seat again, just as Mrs. Everdeen appears in the hallway. I can see the surprise on her face as she says, "Peeta. You're here early."

I smile at her, "Didn't get much sleep. Figured I'd come over and sit with Gale so you guys could all have a break."

"Oh. Well. Thank you." She turns and goes over to the counter, "And you brought some bread. That's very sweet of you."

Shrugging, I say, "It was nothing. I was up baking anyway."

She takes a piece and eats as she gets out her medical supplies. While she does, I think about her and my father. He loved her, and she loved a man from the Seam. My, how history repeats itself. Of course, their relationship could also ring true for Katniss and myself if Katniss loved me, only I wouldn't be my father in the situation, I would be – creepy as it sounds – Mr. Everdeen and Gale would be my own dad.

Boy from the same societal class loves girl, but girl loves boy from different social standing. Girl and boy defy expectations and leave social classes behind to be together. If I may say so, that sounds way more romantic.

Putting a lid on those thoughts, I stand and walk closer to see Mrs. Everdeen, as she moves her fingers lightly over the torn up skin of his back, coating it with something, and it already looks better than it did yesterday. I whisper, "Magic."

She looks up at me, "What?"

I meet her eyes, "It's like you work magic, with your medicine, with Gale."

She laughs lightly, "Magic? I wouldn't exactly say so. Just a lot of studying and practice."

"Well, it looks like magic to me." I assure her, then Prim walks in, and I address her, "You, too. You work the medicine magic just like your mom."

She gives me a bright smile, "Thanks!" And then her face is all business as she starts discussing Gale to her mother.

Mrs. Everdeen tells her that she's just planning on making some snow coat for Gale's back for now, and that she needn't have gotten up so early to help tend to him. Prim brushes her hand over Gale's hair, "I know. But I want to help him."

Katniss' mother assures her that she doesn't need her help for now, and as Prim walks to get some bread from the counter, I wonder if I should stick around. Surely if Prim isn't needed to help, I'm not. And Mrs. Everdeen hasn't made it at all a secret that she's not my biggest fan. That's to say, she doesn't outright dislike me; but she doesn't like that my and Katniss' "relationship."

Before I can decide whether to stay or go, Prim is standing next to me, her grin sugary sweet. "Hey, Peeeeeta…" she starts out.

Grinning back I say, "Hey, Priiiim..."

Her blue eyes shine as she asks, "Can you tell me some tips about your frosting now?"

Okay, not leaving. "Of course."

I give her tips, starting on how much of each ingredient she'll need, then progressing onto the proper mixing techniques she'll need to do, moving onto what dyes and flavors she can use for each different one. Even when I drone on and on about the right consistencies, which I know would bore most people, even those aspiring to be bakers, Prim sits and listens attentively.

Before the Hunger Games, I knew Prim in a vague sense; she was Katniss Everdeen's little sister, who was always very bright and smiling. But now I know her and I completely understand why Katniss volunteered for her. She's just this small little girl, filled with smarts and optimism. Even though my wedding to Katniss is all a show, the fact that I do really look forward to having Prim as my own little sister is true.

"And so, that's how to make a perfect dark chocolate frosting," I say, and finish up a sketch of a cake, as she writes down my last words of advice.

She beams up at me, "Thank you so much!"

I give her a tuck under the chin, "No problem." Before I can add on a bit more of the use of vanilla, from above us comes the creaking of footsteps. Meaning Katniss is awake. And it's one thing _knowing_ the person you love isn't in love you with, but it's a whole other thing to watch her with the man she truly loves. I think of this morning, the way they were sleeping, and I know I just can't take any more of that right now.

Standing, I say, "Well, it's been a nice morning with you ladies. But, seeing as the snow is still really coming down out there, I don't really want to leave my house unattended for that long. Especially in this storm." I pick up my jacket from the back of the chair and slide it on, nodding. "Give me a call if you need any help."

Walking over to the counter I take two of the four loaves of bread sitting there and Prim and Mrs. Everdeen say bye to me as I shut the door. I walk past the empty house between the Everdeen residence and Haymitch's place, and walk up Haymitch's steps. I don't bother knocking on the front door, because I know it's open and I don't even know if he'll be conscious at the moment to let me in.

Taking a few deep breaths of fresh air before I walk into the terrible odor, I turn the knob and let myself in. The place is dark and messy as always, and three times as cold as normal. I can hear him stumbling around, knocking over something in the kitchen. And that something sounds like glass.

With a curse, I jog ahead, wondering what I'm going to find. I see Haymitch with one bottle of alcohol in his hand, and shards all around his feet. He looks up at me scowling, "Dropped my drink."

His words are more slurred than usual, almost making it impossible for me to understand what he's saying. Usually, he goes on walks around town, at least to go buy more liquor, daily. But with this blizzard, he isn't going anywhere. Which means he doesn't get any of the spirits out of his system. Walking toward him, I place the bread on the table, "Actually, Haymitch, your drink is in your hand right now."

He shakes his head vigorously, "No, boy, I'm telling you. Two. I had two bottles, and one fell. So now I only have the one right here to drink." He thrusts the remaining bottle at me so I can see it, and it sloshes over the top, getting all over his hand, and splattering on my shoes.

"Okay. Hey, you want to come with me into the den? I think you have another _full_ bottle in there." I lift a brow at him and he nods.

I lead him down the hall into the living area, and when we're standing in front of the couch, I turn to him, "Could I have a swig of your drink? I promise I'll give you a whole bottle in return someday."

Cautiously, he narrows his eyes, "You never want to drink with me."

I shrug, "There's a first for everything."

"Oh, well." He hands me his bottle, and as he does, I reach out and push him. Being as unsteady as he is right now, his hands flail out and he crashes onto the couch. He tries to push himself up, but he can't, and his bloodshot eyes glare at me, "You tricked me. Some friend you are."

I laugh, "Yeah, I'm terrible."

He makes a reach for the drink, "At least give me my bottle back, boy."

But I keep it with me and throw a blanket at him, "Cover up, it's freezing in here." Then I walk over to the fire place and kneel down, taking a few moments to start a good one up. When I look back at him, he is still sitting up, not passed out yet, but at least he has the blanket spread over him.

He lifts a brow, "Bottle?"

"Not yet," I tell him and go back into the kitchen, slicing up some bread and bringing it back out, putting it on the coffee table in front of him. Then I hand him two pieces. "Eat," I order. Hopefully it'll soak up some of the booze floating around in that stomach of his. When he resists, I threaten, "Eat or I dump the bottle, and at the current moment, you can't get up to stop me or get a new one."

So he eats. When he's downed three pieces of bread, I hand him the bottle back, "There." While he tilts his head back and chugs, I nod, "Okay, I'm going back home. I'll check in on you tomorrow. In the meantime, eat some more bread."

"Fine, fine. It's not the worst thing." He tells me, and takes another sip of his alcohol.

I lift a brow, "And maybe drink something other than your liquor? Water's always good."

This time he snorts, "Yeah, right."

I leave his house and hold my coat closer to my body as the wind immediately starts whipping around me. Even though the storm has been going on for nearly a day, it isn't looking any better out. If anything it's worse than before. I get into my own house quickly, and as I shut the door behind me, my phone starts to ring.

It's not Haymitch, not that he really ever calls me anyway. Probably my father, checking in on me. I kick off my boots on the welcome mat and make my way down the hall to the phone. I pick it up, "Hey." Expecting my father's voice to be on the other end.

But my mouth nearly falls down in shock when I hear Katniss' voice on the line, responding, "Hey." Well, I did tell them to call if they needed me for some help with Gale. But that's clearly not the case as Katniss responds, "I just wanted to make sure you got home."

Um. Okay. Unexpected. Not to mention I can literally see her house from mine. With that in mind, I remind her, "Katniss, I live three houses away from you."

"I know, but with the weather and all," she tells me.

"Well, I'm," _touched that you are checking up on me_, but I decide to go with "fine. Thank you for checking." I add on, sincerely. This is our first phone call. I wonder what else to say, because I don't want to hang up yet. I settle on the obvious, "How's Gale?"

She answers, I think relieved that I finally said something, "All right. My mother and Prim are giving him snow coat."

I hope that helps his back. But that's not the only thing that got whipped yesterday, and in my head I can see perfectly the way her eye was swelled shut this morning, "And your face?"

"I've got some, too." Good. I hope it makes you feel better. "Have you seen Haymitch today?" She asks me.

I think of the little visit I just came from, "I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread."

"I wanted to talk to – to both of you." She tells me, and I'm glad she stopped where she did. She must know as I do that when we talk, especially over the phone, is monitored.

I look out the window, seeing the snow remain falling as hard as I could have possibly thought. Then I remember Haymitch, and how much he is _not_ going to be a help for the next few days, as long as he's going to be cooped up with his own self and his alcohol, "Probably have to wait until after the weather calms down. Nothing much will happen before that, anyway." Not on our end, nor, can I imagine, for Snow and the Capitol. The snow might not be falling there like it is here, but this kind of weather limits what can be put in and out.

Her voice is too weary for comfort, though, as she agrees, "No, nothing much."

We lapse into a bout of silence again, and then I hear someone in the background talk to her, so I just say, "It sounds like you're busy. I guess I'll talk to you later. Let me know if you guys need anything."

"Okay. Bye."

We both hang up, then I look around my house. What am I going to do to fill my time for god knows how long?

I start by cleaning. For the entire rest of the first day, I go room to room, methodically picking up first, dusting, sweeping, mopping. I'm not sure whether or not it's a by-product of being raised by a mother who's a clean freak, but I like a neat house. And my brother… well, he doesn't. I do my best to make sure everything's tidy on a day to day basis, but I don't like to just follow Lucern to pick up after him.

Den, living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom. As night falls, the downstairs is taken care of. I make my way upstairs, and go straight for cleaning the bathroom, then hesitate, but open the door to Luc's room. When we lived together over the bakery, his side of the room was always just on the cusp of being a pig-sty, but never really achieved it. Mostly thanks to our mom and me.

But now that he has his own room here, that doesn't get regulated by mom, he has finally been able to attain that goal. Generally I try to avoid going in this room, but right now I can see that something needs to be done.

Needless to say, cleaning his room wipes me out, and at night, when I collapse onto the couch in front of the fire, I sleep for more than two hours for the first time in almost a week. When I wake up, it's in the usual manner – on the heels of a nightmare. But when I look around, I can see that it's not the bright, new slants of sunlight that normally greet me early in the morning, but these rays are from later in the day.

Getting up, I take my blanket off, fold it and drape it over the back of the couch, making my way over to the clock. Almost noon. That's the latest I've slept in… a long time. I stretch, and look out the window. The snow still hasn't let up a bit. I've baked. I've cleaned. And today, I will paint.

It's been a while, and I don't know what to paint, but then it comes flowing out of my fingertips, through the brush, and onto the canvas. Scenes from the Victory Tour. The beautiful ones, like the quarries and waterfalls from Two, the forest from Seven. Lastly, I weave together a painting telling the story of Eleven.

As I finish, the sky outside is dark, and my back is aching from hunching over the easel for hours. I lean backwards, cracking my spine, when my phone rings downstairs. Jogging, I answer it after several rings, "Hello?"

Luc's voice rings in my ear, "Peeta! You know, I miss you so much. I miss your smile. I miss your bright, bright hair. I miss your laugh. Your eyes, so ocean blue. Or so I'm assuming. You're the one who's been to District Four, you tell me. The point is –"

Laughing, I interrupt, "I get it. You miss me. And believe me when I tell you, it's lonely here, too. At least you have company there. Here it's just me."

He gives a lengthy sigh, "Ah, alone time. I think I remember what that was. A time away from a nagging mother, who treats you the same as she did when you were ten, regardless of the fact that you're almost nineteen."

I quirk a brow though I know he can't see it, "Mom's never going to change, Luc. You know that. I thought dad sat you down for a chat about the way she is and how to survive her when you were twelve."

"Living away from her has spoiled me, I suppose. And now… she's driving me insane, man. Thank god the snow is finally getting weaker. Maybe I'll be able to come back soon." I hear my mom's yelling from my hold on the receiver and I feel my face fall into a sympathetic wince for Lucern when I realize the screaming is directed at him. I can tell his voice isn't speaking directly into the phone as he says, "Yes, ma'am." Then his voice is back against the speaker, but I can tell he's whispering, "Even if the snow hasn't let up, I'm coming back there one way or another." Louder, and considerably brighter, albeit fake, he laughs, "Okay brother! I'll see you soon!"

Shaking my head, I say, "You lived with her for eighteen years. You can deal with another night or two. Be strong. See you."

As we hang up, I'm smiling. Luc's seemed to have forgiven me – or forgotten due to prolonged exposure to our mother – for the fight we had regarding Katniss a few days ago. And I'm glad. With the drama with Katniss, the situation with Gale, the rebellion, I don't think I can handle any more upset with people in my life.

But this time, when I set out to go to sleep tonight in my bed, I'm back to only scraping by with a few hours. In my patterns and habits, I go downstairs and start to go through the recipe book I've been writing for the frostings, and have a nice white chocolate coconut mixed before it's shining outside and the phone is ringing.

Thinking it's my brother again, to tell me in his overjoyed way that the snow has stopped and he can come back today, I answer, "Yes, I know you're ecstatic. But I should let you know that I went through all your stuff and I cleaned your room."

There's no sound coming from the other end for a long pause and then I hear, "Um. Okay. Hello Peeta, this is Katniss. Since the snow has let up I was wondering if you wanted to go into town with me?"

I can feel my cheeks immediately flush, even as a smile grips my lips, "Oh. Hey, Katniss. And sure. Let's meet at Haymitch's." I add, assuming she would want him to come with us, and that he'll be sober enough to join.

She does and he is. We all start on our way to town, and I remain quiet for the entire journey, even as Katniss discusses that she wants to start an uprising. It'll never work. I don't know if I agree or not, but I can't help but be on the pessimistic side of things. I think of Gale as the prime example of someone invested in a rebellion. Something as small as poaching brought him down. What would the government do to an entire people in an uprising? Surely something ten times worse than Gale's whipping. Ensured death of all individuals, I'm certain.

It makes me wonder what happened to Eight.

Haymitch seems to be on my train of thought, and he tells Katniss that he's sure her plan wouldn't work. But I can't dwell on those thoughts for long, because soon we're at town square. And I see that my idea of nothing coming in or out of the district during that storm was complete crap. No snow is going to stop Snow, I think, dimly aware of the pun, but not quite registering it as my brain is too busy taking in all of the new torture equipment set up by the new Head – Thread, another pun there, Thread the Head – like a new kid showing off some shiny new toys.

We keep going, seeing all sorts of different things – the Hob has been sent up in flames. I've never been there, but I know both of my companions have. Katniss takes it hard, and we lose Haymitch soon thereafter in his search for more booze. And even though I have to go see my family, when Katniss says, "I have to go see Hazelle."

I nod and say, "I'll go, too." Because this new town square is really unsettling and I don't want Katniss walking around alone. I spare a look across town at the bakery as we walk in the opposite direction, "Drop by the bakery on my way home."

Her body is incredibly tense next to mine as she thanks me. Understandably, as it's just so darn eerie around here. No one is out and about. If anyone comes across our path, they duck their heads and skedaddle away. Our trip to Gale's house is quick and straightforward. Hazelle barely acknowledges me, which is progress from before, and I see Rory's new coat hanging up inside, already being put to use.

When we leave the Seam, Katniss tells me to leave her, trying to get me off her tail as she goes to see the Hob. Or what's left of it, I guess I should say. But nothing out here is looking any better, and she still shouldn't be alone right now, and I insist, "I'll go with you."

She stops walking and looks at me seriously, "No. I've dragged you into enough trouble."

I look back at her and think of the danger we've been living in for months, even when I didn't know. Of all of my family who have been in danger too, and trying to project what will become of us with this whole thing with Gale, and just… in general. And then what about this whole you know, impending wedding and whatnot? The irony of the situation just smacks me over the head as I say, "And avoiding a stroll by the Hob… that's going to fix things for me?" I can feel a grin take over, even as the situation is as not-funny as it gets.

As we walk to where the Hob used to be, I take her hand in mine. We're in public, I think, and the new Peacekeepers are surely going to be watching from every angle they can get, much more vigilant than those from before to report back to President Snow and give him the update on us. When we finally reach the burning building, we stop and Katniss looks on, while I watch as the flames illuminate her face.

She's upset. That much is clear. This place used to be a safe haven for her, and look what happened to it now. Her hand is tight on mine as she watches, then turns to look at me, "I want to check on Greasy Sae."

Even I know who Greasy Sae is. But I turn away from her and watch as flaming boards fall from their perch up high and collapse on the ground, and say, "Not today, Katniss. I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them." If anything, we'd make it worse.

After a while, I have to gently tug on her hand to lead her away, toward the bakery. Peacekeepers that I have never seen before are crawling all around the square, glaring at us as we pass. Finally, we reach the bakery, and I'm relieved to see my father manning the front desk. Even though I've spoken to both he and Lucern in the past few days, I'm still happy to see for myself that they're all right.

I open the door, holding it for Katniss, before I follow her in, smiling widely, "Dad! It's great to see you."

His grin answers mine, "My boy! How's it been, being stuck up in your big house?"

"Not fun at all. Productive. Not fun. I'm actually looking forward to having Luc back," I joke, and Katniss drifts away from me, looking at the cakes, and I walk closer to the counter, leaning on it.

My dad's smile softens, "Well, I liked having the little knucklehead back for a bit. The house is… ha, well, not quiet, but different without any of my sons."

"Well, I miss living in my room here sometimes, too. But it's not so bad when I can come and visit. The blizzard really just messed with everything." I tell him, and Katniss walks over, pointing out what she wants to buy to my dad.

As he wraps and packages them for her, we discuss the snow some more, and how my brothers and I used to always love to wrestle and fight out in the snow. I think of those days, of how I got my butt kicked until I won my first fight against Thyler when I was thirteen and that was because he was sick with a cold, and my first one against Luc when I was sixteen because we'd been fighting for almost a half hour and he was getting too tired and lazy to keep going.

When her cakes are put into a bag, my father pushes it across the counter, "Here you go little lady. Enjoy. And make sure you bring your sister in some time." My father and Prim like to discuss the cakes.

She takes the bag, "Thank you. And I will." And then she turns, going toward the door.

I wave at him as I follow her, "I'll come by again tomorrow."

We leave the shop and make the rest of our walk in silence, parting as soon as we're back in the Victor's Village. I spend the rest of the day making my own cake, then a loaf of grain wheat bread, Luc's favorite, to greet him with.

The next day, he's back bright and early. Together, we walk into town and to the bakery, where we pull a few hour long shifts, though not as much as before, because people aren't coming in as often as they were pre-storm. This continues on through the next few days, as people who used to stop and chat with me in the street won't even make eye contact with me.

Starvation is coming swiftly in the district, and my opportunities to sneak money in to those I helped before aren't available. It's the most I can do to force my parents to take money from me, only convincing them on the argument that we all know stale bread can only get us so far, and the reason they aren't having their usual good business is because of me, and we all know it.

Days later, in the morning, I find Lucern sitting on the couch in the living room. He looks up at me, "Thyler's coming over."

I nod, "Great!" And it is; I haven't seen my oldest brother in over two weeks. His shifts at the bakery are completely different than mine, and when he's not there, he's with his wife, Haylee, and her family.

At the knock on the door, I open it and see him smiling brightly. There's been a bleak time here for a while, but now, with my brother's both with me, grinning and looking excited, I hope that everything is going to turn around.

* * *

**A third of the way through! I can't wait to actually get to the Quarter Quell... anywho, review please!**


	11. Bonding Brothers

Thyler steps into the house, looking around, his eyebrows lifted as if he's impressed, as he takes off his jacket, "Niiice digs, pal." He toes off his boots in the foyer and peeks around a bit more, "You know, I haven't been here since before you put all your little Peeta-touches on it." As he raises his voice to tease me with _Peeta-touches_ and jabs me in the ribs.

I elbow him back, "Well, I'm not the one keeping you away, pal. That would be your wife." I use the same mocking voice when I reference his wife. I do like Haylee – we actually even talk now, which we didn't do before I went into the Games. But it's the principle of the matter.

His face sobers and as he looks at me seriously, my grin completely slides off my face. he reaches up and takes my shoulder in his hand, leading me into the living room where Lucern is lying on the couch. "I have something to tell you. Both of you."

Feeling unsettled, I reach up and brush his hand off my shoulder, "What? What is it? Wait, are you and Haylee separating? Is that why you have all this serious business?"

Now Luc sits up, "You and Haylee are separating? Why?"

I cross my arms, "Is there anything we can do?"

Thyler puts his hands into the air, his serious face gone, laughter replacing it, "Guys, guys, stop. Haylee and I aren't breaking up. It's kind of like the opposite."

I make eye contact with Lucern, and I can see he's just as baffled as I am. Feeling dumb, I look at my oldest brother, "What's the… opposite of breaking up when you're already married? I don't follow."

Thyler is silent, his face nearly split in half with a smile. He doesn't say anything to us, and just looks back and forth at my and Luc's waiting faces. Luc falls back to his previous position, "Are you going to tell us or what?"

The oldest Mellark in the room clears his throat, "Well. Haylee's having a baby."

You could hear a pin drop. The first word spoken in the time that follows comes from Lucern, and it's a question, "Yours?"

Thyler leans forward and slaps him on the back of the head, "Yes, mine! Who else's would it be, jerk wad?" He stands back and looks at me, "So, what do you have to say?"

Thyler and Haylee are having a baby. It's so perfect it even rhymes. I can feel a smile break out on my own face that rivals his, "What do I have to say?" He nods expectantly, and I jump at him, catching him in a headlock, giving him the same congratulations he gave to me when I had my first date, only for a moment before I pull him into a real hug, "I have to say… that this is incredible! I'm so happy for you. For both of you."

Luc waits for me to pulls back before slapping Thyler on the shoulder, then seems to think the better of it and hugs him, too. They exchange words, but I'm not listening. A baby. Baby Mellark. In my mind's eye I try to think of what their baby might possibly look like. I think I'm going to definitely paint something for Thyler and Haylee soon.

Just the thought that they're bringing life into the world, a new tiny person who is going to depend on my brother and sister-in-law for life is … I just feel amazed. I think that maybe it's things like that, things like my niece or nephew to be, that make all of the worry and upset and pain and anxiety I have over just _everything_ else worth it.

"How far along is she?" I ask.

Excitedly, Thyler reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a small, square photo, handing it to me, "Look, we went to Doc Aldine's a few weeks ago, and he said we're almost two months along. He gave us this picture."

I look at the strange photograph and I squint and move my head back and forth, trying to see what's going on in it. Luc whispers, "You're the artist. Quick, tell me what I'm looking at."

Out of the corner of my mouth I reply, "I have no idea."

I'm not sure whether or not Thyler heard us, but he excitedly points at a tiny dot, "See? See? That's the baby, my little girl. Or boy." He looks at us, "Girl. I think I want a girl. Is that strange? A daughter. Don't men usually want sons?" He looks down at his hands, then back at us, "My palms are sweating. I don't like this."

Laughing, I hand the picture back to him, "I think it's normal for you to be nervous. And maybe you just want a daughter because you had to grow up with Luc and me lagging behind you at every step. Either way, daughter or son, you're going to be a great father."

"But what if I'm not? I mean, I'm only twenty-one. I have so much time to make a ton of mistakes! And Haylee… oh, god, she's only twenty. What if I pushed her? I did push her to marry me. And now we're having a baby and –"

I cut him off and put my hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me, "Hey, Thyler. Haylee loves you and you didn't force her into anything. And yeah, you might both make mistakes, but I'm sure it won't be anything that will scar you child for life."

Luc punches him in the chest, "And if you do scar the little one, the cool uncle will be there to fix everything." He winks at me, "The cool uncle is me, by the way."

I fix him with a dirty look, "Yeah, right. You'll be the uncle who's always napping at the Christmas party. _I'll_ be the one who gives the best gifts."

Thyler shakes his head at us, "The kid will love both of you. A lot more than she likes Haylee's sister, that's for sure."

I try to get a clear picture in my head of Haylee's sister, Kery, but it's difficult. Haylee's family wasn't exactly too thrilled when she married Thyler – they're some of the very, very few rich people in District Twelve because her father owns and manages several of the mines, and they thought she could do better. I'm pretty sure she only got them to concede to Thyler when she said that at least he had a steady, stable job at the bakery and – the big selling point – at least he wasn't from the Seam.

The wedding was put on soon thereafter and Thyler was embraced into their home. Where Kery also lives. She's two years younger than I am, and, from what I gather, extremely high maintenance. Almost unbearably so, and she can't stand _not_ being the center of attention. I learned that from the wedding.

Thyler walks over to a wooden rocking chair that used to be stored in the basement of the bakery, and sits, "So Haylee and I are looking for our own place, now. I mean there's room at her parents' for us and the baby but neither of us wants to stay there for much longer."

With Luc lying down on the couch, I take the remaining chair across from Thyler, "Well, even though you probably don't want to, if you want to leave her family's and still don't have a place you can move in here with us. I mean, we have more than enough room, four empty bedrooms, and you guys could even have your own wing." And though I haven't really thought about Thyler and Haylee moving in before, I suddenly really want them too. There's too much loneliness and emptiness here, and all of that would be gone, especially with the new baby.

Thyler nods, "Thanks, Peeta. I don't think we'll take up the offer, either, but thanks. Haylee wants to get our own house. The only problem is that I don't want to take a loan from her father, and anything else in our price range isn't really the standard of living she's used to."

Luc starts on about how to finagle Haylee into a cheaper place, and I stand, walking up into my bedroom, and take out one of the stacks of bills I have there. I bring it back downstairs, where Luc is no longer sitting, and hand it to my brother, "This should be enough to get you into any house Haylee could want. And if you do need more, don't hesitate to ask."

Thyler looks stunned, and he shakes his head, "I can't take this, Peeta. It's your money."

When he tries to force it back into my hands I back away, "Thyler, I don't want it. I have way too much of it as it is. I have more than five times what I just handed you upstairs, and I'll get more next month."

I can already see his resolve soften, before he says, "Well, I'll pay you back. We'll work something out." Now he raises his head, looking at me rather than the money, a smile on his face, "Probably in small increments. Over a long period of time."

With a laugh, I take my seat, "No. This isn't a loan. If you have trouble swallowing that much money from me, consider it a gift to my future niece or nephew. I want him or her to have all of the running around and playing space they want. In fact, if you ever try to pay me back any of that money, I'll regard it as some way of you telling me that you don't want me to treat my niece or nephew to anything."

Luc walks back in with three bottles of water and hands us each one, "Here, here!"

As Thyler takes his water, he looks at me with a small smile playing on his lips, "Peeta, thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve a brother like you, but I'm glad I have you."

All I can do is nod in response. I'm not all that great, and I know that. Look at my situation with Katniss, look at the part I'm playing in the rebellion – if Thyler really knew the truth about what a mess I've made out of everything, he wouldn't think so highly of me.

Thyler sits back in the chair, putting his feet up on the coffee table, "So, enough about me. What about _you_, little brother? You've got a girl now, too, with wedding bells in your future."

Luc kicks in, "Yeah, Peeta, tell us about your relationship with Katniss. I know I've wanted to hear all about it for quite some time."

I meet his eyes and see the challenge in them. But I don't really want to play along. With these two here, the two who know me best out of every person on this planet, minus our father, I want them to know the truth. Even being the good liar I am, I can't make eye contact as I say, "Well, you watched the Games. I've loved her ever since I was five, and I went into the Games knowing I was going to help her. And over the course of our time there, she grew to love me back. It was like an oddly packaged dream come true." Well, it would have been if it was all real. I quickly down the rest of my water, "All out. I'm going to grab another, be right back."

I stand, but am only up for a moment before I'm slammed face first onto the ground, Luc holding me down on the right side, Thyler on the left, then they roll me over, both of them kneeling on my chest to keep me down. Luc lifts a brow, "You wouldn't tell me the truth when I asked for it nicely, so I had to take certain measures."

This whole holding me down and not letting me go even when I desperately have to pee thing is an old fall back method they've used to get me to tell them the truth throughout my whole childhood. Being the baby of the family, and the smallest of all of us, it was just destined to happen this way. Knowing it's useless to struggle, I lay still. "What do you want to know exactly?"

Thyler answers, "I've recently been filled in on everything. I want to know why you're marrying a girl who doesn't love you. Moreover, I want to know why _she's_ marrying _you_."

Miserable, I look into their faces, both of which look so much like my own, and I let my head fall back, hitting the hard wood with a _thunk_ and close my eyes, as I whisper, "She has to. If we didn't convince all of Panem of our love, President Snow threatened to kill everyone. Okay? Are you satisfied?"

I open my eyes to see both of my brothers looking down on me with raised brows. Luc shakes his head, then lets me go, "Are you serious?"

When I nod, Thyler lets me go as well. Luc stalks over to the window and glares out of it, to the direction of Katniss' house, "That girl is ruining your life, Peeta. You can't move on because she just keeps pulling you right back in."

Thyler offers me his hand and pulls me up as I respond, "Luc, it's not her fault all of this is happening. You can't help who you love."

He turns to look at me, "No, no. It is her fault. You are a terrific guy. You undervalue yourself all the time and you always have. But that doesn't change that _that girl_ would be lucky to have you, either way. And it's her fault people didn't believe you two were for real. Not in the Games, not on the Tour. You were always real and convincing. But now because little miss Everdeen couldn't fake loving a great guy like you, your future is dismal."

I shake my head but before I can respond, Thyler speaks, "Luc leave him alone. He's doing what he has to do. When he says Snow threatened to kill everyone, he clearly meant Snow threatened to kill us. He's doing this for us."

I add on, "And don't blame Katniss, either. She couldn't fake being in love with me, and she's paying the price, too." I picture Gale, "She's giving up more than I am for this."

My brother shrugs then goes to fall back on the couch, "Well, whatever. I still don't like her."

"I never said you had to." I tell him and sit down in my vacated chair, silent for a moment before I say, "But you really have no good reason to dislike her. She's –"

Luc cuts me off, "I do. She's making my little brother unhappy. Intentionally or unintentionally, it doesn't change anything. And don't go on extolling a list of her virtues. It's clear you can't find it in yourself to dislike her, so I'm doing it enough for the both of us."

I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed, but I know it's futile to argue with him when he's set in his opinion. Instead I look over at Thyler, "Do you have anything to input?"

He hesitates, but says, "Listen, I don't think any less of you. In fact, I think _more_ of you for doing this for us. And I don't dislike your girl. But I do think that you shouldn't have kept this from us for so long. Maybe you should wonder why you can let yourself be there for everyone else around you, but you can't let anyone be there for you."

His words do ring true. But I don't want to think about them, and, luckily, I have another brother who is a smart-ass, so I don't have to. Luc tosses a throw pillow at Thyler and says, "Oh, wise philosopher. Give me a gem of your wisdom."

Thyler chucks the pillow back at him, hitting in the face, "Shut up."

We end up wasting the day away with an old Mellark brother's tradition – poker. Luc and Thyler taught me how to play when I was eleven, and we've been doing it ever since. Of course, back at home above the bakery, we'd play in secret, usually huddled up on the patch of floor between my and Luc's beds, because if our mother found out she would skin us alive. Especially if she ever learned that we played with cookies we got from the bakery. They were cookies that were stale and wouldn't be bought anyway, but she would still be angry.

Now, though, we play with money. I sport them both some, and we get down to business. We play throughout the day, only pausing to eat some food as night falls around us. As we do, I learn that Thyler already told our parents about the baby, and our dad was thrilled, and even our mother looked like she had a smile on her face.

As I deal the cards, I say, "If it's a boy you should name him Wheat. And if it's a girl, Rye."

Luc laughs, "No, you should name him Lucern or her… Lucerna."

Thyler picks up his cards, "Listen, pita Peeta, just because you were inadvertently named after bread doesn't mean my kid will be. And they definitely won't be named Lucerna! No, Haylee and I both agree we don't want to take names from anyone in our families. We want something new."

Before I can look at my new hand of cards or even respond, there's a knock on the door. Confused, I look at Luc, "Did you invite anyone else over?"

He shakes his head, "Nope."

I stand and start toward the door, saying over my shoulder, "Note how I take my cards with me when I go. That's because I know I have a family of cheaters." The words die on my lips when I see one of the new Peacekeepers at my door. Instinctively, I want to run, and I want to get my brothers out of here. All I can think is – they've come to kill us.

It's a woman, and she gives me a dirty look, "Peeta Mellark?"

Swallowing nervously, I say, "That's me. How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Katniss Everdeen. She's not at her residence, and given your engagement, I thought she might be here." She crosses her arms and look almost smug because she has to know what the answer is.

Shaking my head, trying to appear calm as fear ratchets up inside me, I answer, "Sorry, she's not here. But Katniss is a busy girl; she goes to a lot of places to check up on a lot of people, every day. She'll turn up eventually."

The woman is now positively self-righteous, "If you wouldn't mind coming with me to wait for her arrival back at the Everdeen household? That way when she comes home she won't need to come here and check up on you before we can deliver our message."

Feeling numb, wondering where Katniss is and what they have to tell her, I say, "Hold on, I have to get my coat." And I shut the door on her, grabbing my coat off the rack and peeking my head into the living room, where the card game is on hold.

Thyler waves his hand, "We heard it all. Go on."

Luc mutters, "Even when she isn't here she's screwing things up."

And then the Peacekeepers knocks impatiently on the door again. "Coming!" I call, and look at my brothers, "Feel free to keep playing. I'll see you later." I zip up my jacket and walk to the door, opening it and stepping out. As we walk to Katniss' house, I look at the Peacekeeper, "So what's the message you have for Katniss?"

She gives me a slanted look, "Just that the fence has been fixed. If anything or anyone tries to go around that boundary, they can forget it."

I nearly falter in my steps, but given her watchful reaction, I can tell she's just waiting for me to admit, even without the words, that I know Katniss goes out hunting, and could very well be there right now. Probably is out there right now. Making sure to keep my voice even, though my throat is feeling immeasurably tighter, I say, "Well, that's kind of you to come and tell her in person."

_Please, god, Katniss, don't be out in those woods._

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**Uh oh... Please review and tell me what you think! I'm going on vacation for the fourth, so even though I would normally have the next chapter up on Saturday, it'll be up on Tuesday. Sorry.**_  
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	12. Possibly Friends

The woman Peacekeeper opens the Everdeen's door, and holds it for me. Stepping in, I look around. It's a full house in here. There's another Peacekeeper in here – a man – Katniss' mother, Prim, and Haymitch. And I can see the worry lines etched into the Everdeen's faces. They're not hiding their emotions very well, but who can expect them to?

Trying to seem natural and easy, like my stomach isn't cramping with anxiety, I take off my jacket and hang it up, "Hey Mrs. Everdeen." I think it'll be best if I pretend this visit is more of a social call than what we all know it is.

Her hand shakes when she raises it to wave. Kicking off my boots, I take a few more steps into the house, "How was your frosting making going, Prim?"

Her smile is a bit easier than her mother's. "It's a lot better now since you gave me your tips. Thanks."

I nod, then walk to where Haymitch is sitting, taking the second rocking chair next to him, "I hardly ever see you out and about."

All he does is grunt in response, then, weirdly, asks, "Want to play chess?"

"Oh. Kay." I nod as if this is normal behavior between us two, "Sure. I'll beat you into the ground, just like last time." I give him a grin, hoping it's yelling that I am confident. I mean, I guess I am – I think Haymitch's brain is kind of watered-down from all of his drinking. But we're never played anything together, chess, cards, instruments. Well, I doubt either of us can really play an instrument, but regardless.

Unsure of what his angle is with this whole chess thing, I spot the game wedged between the wall and the table behind the chairs, and pull it out. Unsurprisingly, he has me set up both his and my own side. It's his move first and he leans forward on one elbow, that hand coming up to rub over his mouth as he mutters, "You know anything? Protecting her?"

For a second I look over at the Peacekeepers, who are both poking around on the other side of the room, and I shake my head softly. I reach over to make my move, coughing loudly before tapping my fingers on the table, trying to appear bored while he's making his move, and I ask, "You know how long she's been gone?"

We both look over at the Peacekeepers, who are now talking to each other, nearly out of our view point, and he responds, "My guess would be all day."

Prim is then standing next to us, wringing her hands, and looking way older than she really should, whispering, "Usually she's back by dinner. But dinner was more than an hour ago. She's never this late."

I see the Peacekeepers shift out of the corner of my eye, looking over at us with narrowed eyes. Louder now, at a normal volume, I say, "Wow, I never even saw that move, Prim. Thanks a lot."

She sees what I'm doing and nods, "You're welcome." And then goes back across the kitchen to talk to her mother.

She's never late for dinner… what if she ran? If she decided that everything was getting to be too much, she went into the woods for one of her usual hunts or nature walks or whatever it is she spends all of her time doing out there, and thought that maybe she just wouldn't come back?

To be honest, I'm not sure how I'd feel about it. Off the bat, I would think upset. She left me in a jam, and should she ever be caught… well, I'm not even sure what would happen. She'd be tortured, maybe killed, who knows what else? But on the other hand, I think I'm kind of relieved. If she did go, if she did get out, and she makes it, she is going to be okay. Even if she's not with me, even if I don't know what happened to her exactly, she's still okay.

Then I look up at Prim and I know. Katniss would never leave her here. Me and Haymitch – yes. Her mother – it's possible. Gale – given the right circumstances. But Prim? Never in a million years. She would do anything to keep her sister safe.

Which just leaves me with the question… where is she? Stuck behind the fence, in the woods? Just a sitting duck to be found by the Peacekeepers and taken into custody for being caught breaking the rules? Haymitch and I play through an entire game of chess, and start another before I have my answer.

Katniss steps through the front door after I've half convinced myself that the next time I'll see her is in the stocks. Relief courses through my veins like a drug, and she talks to her mother, the Peacekeepers, and then starts on about a story of how she tried to get Prim's goat pregnant and got lost, which was why she was so late.

I'm sure how impressed I am by the way she's just throwing all of this out there by the seat of her pants is showing on my face, so I school my features into, what I hope is, an amused smile. She and Prim have a little battle over whether it was the east or west entrance Prim had told her to go in to see the goat guy, which is such a big lie. Not only are they not trying to impregnate the goat, but Katniss wouldn't be the one to mess up the directions.

Even Haymitch join in on it, saying that Prim definitely told Katniss that it was the east entrance, "Last night." As if he was really here…

But if he's joining in, then so am I. Because we can really pull this off, if we all work together in it. Granted, Katniss already did most of the work – she somehow got out of those woods _and_ came up with this ridiculous yet believable alibi for herself, but what am I here for if not to help her out? I chime in, "It was definitely the east." Haymitch looks at me, as if telling me I should speak up more and play into my role more, and then we both write the look off as if we're conspiring against Katniss' memory and give off fake laughs. I look over at Katniss as we do so, and I see that she's still doing remarkably in her role, glaring at me as I chuckle. As I give my apology for laughing, I think about this situation. I just gave an insincere, fake apology, for fake laughing at a fake scenario.

I can tell we're really winning this little battle when the Peacekeepers start grasping at straws to get Katniss in trouble, asking what she's got in the little bag she brought home. Crossing my fingers, hoping she didn't bring anything incriminating back, I feel myself start to get wound up again, only to be relieved when she willingly dumps out the contents on the kitchen table. Thank god.

Mrs. Everdeen and the Peacekeepers all lean in to look at the spoils, and I step up myself to see. She bought new medical stuff for her mom to use, and there's another small bag. Trying to get it and open it myself before they can, just to make sure, I pick it up and peek in, "Ooh, peppermints."

And even though I don't really like them, I take one and put it in my mouth to give a good show. For all these people know Katniss could have bought them as a treat for me. We play-fight over the bag and toss it between most of us in the room, and I wonder whether or not Katniss got the idea to stop for this stuff before or after she knew about the electric fence. If it was before, than that was just sheer luck. If it was after, it was her displaying her brilliance.

Katniss crosses her arm and pouts, saying, "None of you deserves candy!"

Seeing the woman eyeing me with this speculating look, "What, because we're right?" I ask, and play up my role as the adoring fiancé, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pulling her against me. Before I can even get her close, her entire body stiffens and instinctively I start to feel her body pull away, even before she yelps in pain. She tries to cover it up, but I know something's wrong there. I know I can't be the only one to have noticed, so I try to draw the attention away from that and just keep up my character, "Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?"

"Better." She tells me and looks up, poking out her bottom lip slightly, which is what she always does before I kiss her. I can still see the pain resonate in her eyes as I lower my head to give her a quick peck.

Before long, the Peacekeepers have left, and Katniss lets us all see what happened to her, telling us that she fell and hurt herself. Then my brain clicks it all together; she _fell_ over the fence. Her ankle is hurt as well as her back. In my mind's eye, I see her hit the ground badly on her foot, hurt it, and then fall farther, onto her back. I'm not happy that she's hurt, but I am glad this is all that came about. No broken limbs, and she's not getting hung out in the stocks and whipped. The Peacekeepers will be off her back for a little while, I would imagine.

I wonder if Thyler is still over at my house. Strangely, I want to talk to my brothers about all of this, even after all of those months of not telling them anything. But I can't leave here, not yet. Not when Katniss might still need me. Which she does. It's clear when her mother is finishing up wrapping Katniss' bad foot with bandages and takes in the state of her daughter after some sleeping syrup, judging, "I think you might need some help getting to bed."

Neither Prim nor Mrs. Everdeen is big enough to maneuver Katniss up the stairs into her room, and I doubt Haymitch will be volunteering anytime soon, so I step forward, "I can help." I walk to where she's sitting and gently take her hand in mine, pulling her arm around my shoulder and standing. She leans heavily on me, and it's hard to make any progress, especially because I can't wrap my arm around her waist without hurting her tailbone.

Then, when she's barely standing upright on her own, I take the matter in my own hands, choosing the simplest solution. Bending down, I scoop one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, and lift her up. She's so light. She sighs and cuddles into me as we ascend the stairs, and I have to hold myself back from bending and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She has sleep syrup in her – it would be like taking advantage of her while she was drunk.

Without putting her down, I manage to balance on one foot and use the other to kick down her comforter to the foot of her bed. Then I lower her in, and draw up the blankets. Her eyes are closed, and I brush her hand back from her forehead, my fingers caught up in the dark silk of it all, as I whisper, "Goodnight."

I think she's asleep, but I'm proven wrong as she suddenly reaches up and takes my hand in hers. Her grip is soft, but I don't have to heart to pull away from her. So I just stand at her bedside for what feels like an eternity, until she slowly opens her eyes, heavy-lidded, and says, "Don't go yet. Not until I fall asleep."

How could I, when she asks me that? In a wordless answer, I sit on the bed, keeping her icy cold hand in mine, and bringing up my other so I have hers trapped between my own, warming it, as I tell her about how I had thought she'd left earlier.

"No," she says to me, her voice drawing me in, "I'd have told you." And just like that, any progress I thought I had made with keeping my distance from her is gone. Because it's things like that that let me know she thinks of me, even when she doesn't _have_ to. Or maybe that was the sleep syrup talking, because she is now sniffing my hand, which isn't exactly normal behavior. Regardless, when she requests, "Stay with me," I can't resist.

"Always," I whisper back, and can't stop myself this time from brushing a kiss over her forehead. I don't know if she heard me or not before she fell asleep, but it really doesn't matter.

I sit with her for a while, keeping her hand in mine, my other stroking through her hair. I only meant to do it once, but she sort of leaned into it, and she makes little sighs when I keep it up, so I don't stop. I can only imagine what Lucern would say if he knew I was here. He'd be pissed at her just for asking me to stay, I know that much. But Luc has never been in love, and he wouldn't understand. I wonder if Thyler would. If Haylee asked him to stay with her while she slept, he would. He would do anything for her in a heartbeat.

But after a while, when the clock downstairs chimes that it's a new hour, I know I have to go. I can't just stay here with her, holding her while she sleeps. This isn't the Tour, and we aren't on show right now. This is home, where we're almost always real with ourselves. And this right here isn't real. So I go downstairs and tell the Everdeens that Katniss is sleeping soundly, and let myself out.

When I get home, I catch Luc on his way up to bed, and all he does when he sees me is shake his head and say, "You might not be held up in those stocks, but boy are you –" he makes a strange sound, and finishes, " – whipped."

He doesn't even know the half of it, I think, but all I say is, "Go to bed."

He salutes me and keeps going up the stairs. I follow suit and try to get in a few hours as well, barely scrapping by with four hours before I wake with the sun. Showering quickly, I wonder how Katniss is. If she's feeling better. And I feel the urge to make her some of those buns – the cheese buns – that she once told me she really likes. Just as a get well present.

With that in mind, I get downstairs and get to baking, making a couple dozen of the buns by just past noon. I take two and eat them myself before heading over to Katniss' house. Mrs. Everdeen lets me in and tells me Katniss is upstairs. I go up, and see her sitting up in bed. With a knock on the door, I present the basket with the buns first and say, "Just dropping off some of those cheese buns you like. I'll leave them on this little table for you."

Walking closer, I sit the basket on the bedside table, and she looks up at me and smiles, but I can see the line of frustration between her brows, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." I don't want to ask why she's frustrated, but then I see the open book in her lap, "What's that?"

She sighs and takes a bun, "It's the family book. An herbalist from my mother's side started it years ago, and it's been added onto since, but it's not nearly as complete as it could be. Should be, really, if it's going to be any use to someone in the future."

I shrug and take a closer peek at it, "So, you know a ton about plants and whatnot. Why don't you add onto it?"

She runs her hand over a page, her finger tracing over a well done drawing, "I want to, believe me. But I'm no artist. For all I know, I'll draw some berry in here that's supposed to be good, but the drawing will come out so bad, someone will see it in the wilderness, thinking it's good, and then eat it and die." Then her hand stills, and she slants a look up at me.

Sticking my hands in my pockets, still a tad embarrassed about my art as I offer, "Well, if you want, I could try drawing some for you."

She nods and ushers me to sit down, describing some plant to me as she writes about it in the book, and how it can help with burns. Then she tells me what it looks like, and I use a piece of scrap paper to sketch. She doesn't like it. It takes me three tries, but finally my sketch meets the proper standard, and she has me copy it into the book.

We continue on like this for a few hours, only breaking when I lift her downstairs to get some refreshments, and she watches the television. She seems to be watching intently for something, but I don't know what it is, and – judging by the looks on her families' faces – they don't know either. But she never actually says something about it or mentions that she's watching out for anything.

Then I carry her back up the stairs and we work on the book a bit more, finishing another four plants that can be used in some helpful way. The next day, noticing that Katniss finished all the buns I brought yesterday, I go back again, and we end up sticking to that routine for days.

We sit together in a quiet companionship that we've never had before. It's different and nice, and I actually feel like maybe we're getting to be somewhere good. When I go home at night, I don't feel like I should be ashamed or angry at myself for being with her, because what we're doing here is actually real. Like what we have now isn't some fake romantic bond for the public, or me deluding myself into thinking we're into something that we're not.

Except that sometimes when I'm drawing, I think I feel her eyes on me, watching… but then I shake my head. Don't even let yourself go there, Peeta.

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**Please review! And, if I'm not mistaken, only two or three more chapters until we're in the Capitol... wooo!**


	13. Everything Is Too Quiet

It's weeks later, after we've established the routine and become actual, okay well maybe quasi, friends, that her family book is full. Around that same time, she's deemed okay to walk around on her own again, and I feel like my purpose for going over every day is gone, so I don't. I start volunteering at the school again for art classes, and picking up more shifts at the bakery. Mostly early mornings, ones that neither of my brothers wants to work but I'm up that early nearly daily anyway.

I like it, though. Before I went into the Hunger Games, having the early shift at the bakery was something I detested – I had to get up at four in the morning on a school day, and keep going for the rest of the day. But now, along with the many other things that have changed, the early shift is something I look forward to.

On a particularly nice day, just as the ten foot walls of snow have practically all diminished, when the trees have started to thaw into spring, and I can predict a few leaves sprouting soon, I'm making good time. As I approach the bakery, the sun is just rising and the sky is a perfect blend of milky early morning gray and orange.

Pulling open the door, I immediately head toward the back, to fire up the oven and start getting out the ingredients I'll be using. But I've been beat, I see, by my father, who's already in his apron, kneading the dough. He looks up and smiles at me, "Surprised I got down here so early, son. No one's been down here before you for over two weeks."

I shrug and reach for my own apron, hanging up near the door, "Well, I'm getting some early starts these days."

We work in silence with each other for a bit, until I hear my mother walk down the stairs and open the actual store for business, manning the register. Minutes later, Lucern walks in through the front door, and my mother immediately shouts, "Lucern Mellark, your shift starts at seven o'clock sharp! Do you understand that?"

I hear him respond, "Mom, I can tell time, I just –"

She interrupts him, "No! Clearly you cannot tell time, because it's seven fifteen. You filthy pig, it's fifteen minutes past your shift. I had to come down and do _your_ job for fifteen minutes. Do you have an actual reason for being late?" But I can tell by the tone of her voice she doesn't want to hear what he has to say, no matter what it is.

But being the smart aleck he is, my brother says, "There was traffic?"

Then she starts cursing at him, screaming about how he walks to work. Trying to calm her down, he says, "Mom, I'm sorry. But I'm here now, you don't have to do my shift for me."

"No. I'm here and you have to work out back for now. Go. Get!" As I hear his footsteps coming to the kitchen door, I hear a crash, and my dad and I look at each other, shaking our heads.

Then Luc comes in, rubbing the back of her head, muttering, "You know, you'd figure that after so many years her age would make her eyes or her arm muscles less accurate when throwing things. I think it's done the opposite."

My father throws an apron at him, and I give him a cheeky grin, "How about you show up on time tomorrow, then this wouldn't have to happen."

He reaches over and slaps the back of my head, "Suck up."

I shrug and finish shaping the loaf I'm working on, sticking it in the oven and untie the apron, "Well, Thyler should be coming around in less than an hour to start his shift, and you guys seem pretty full here. I'm just going to get out of your way."

As I hang it up on the hook near the door, my father says, "Don't forget, we're all having dinner tomorrow night with Haylee's family. Meet your mother and myself here at seven and we'll all go over together."

"I'll be here." I assure him, and leave through the back door, not wanting to face my mother right now while she's still in fine fighting form.

I walk back to my house in Victor's Village, kicking up snow as I go along. Things have been too quiet lately. My relationship with Katniss is on a positive note, everything with my family has been good, I've been catching at least four hours of sleep a night… I haven't even seen or heard of a whipping going on for almost a week now. Everything is a bit too… bright and shiny.

But it's all making me uneasy. Making me feel like something is going to come along and disrupt all of the peacefulness.

With these thoughts in mind, I see the tire marks in the slushy snow on the road up to the Village, and it sets me into a panic. I don't know who could be here in a car, but it has to be bad. Like, government issue bad. Katniss.

Launching into a run, I don't stop until our houses are in sight. And I nearly fall to the ground in relief: I was so worried for nothing. I know for a fact that the person who just walked into Katniss' house isn't some Peacekeeper or someone who works directly for President Snow – it was her prep team. I don't even have time to wonder why they're here when I hear, "Peeta!"

I turn to the direction of the voice, and find myself thrown into a hug, my face being smothered in golden brown hair, "Portia, what are you doing here?"

She leans back, "Well, that's a nice welcoming." She sticks out her tongue at me.

I roll my eyes, "It's great to see you, you know that. But you coming to visit isn't something that happens normally."

She links her arm around mine and we start walking toward my house, "Well, if you must know, today is the day Katniss is trying on all of the wedding gowns Cinna has for her to choose from for your wedding." Her smile dims as she says this, but she quickly pushes on, "I have your tuxedo all designed. It's dapper. Not with me here, but you're not going to be getting all the attention that Katniss will for everything. Plus, all of Panem doesn't need to vote on what you look best in." She throws me one of her Portia winks, "I already know. No guesswork involved."

I laugh, and open my front door for us, "Thank god I have you, then. So what exactly are _you_ doing here, if I don't have any clothes to try on."

"Well, Cinna is being all super-secretive lately, even more so than usual, and one of the very few things he's told me was about how he was going to see Katniss for her wedding gown photo shoot. And after _a lot_ of wheedling and near-begging, I got myself invited for the little trip. To see you. I hope you're honored." She pokes me in the ribs, and I catch her hand, smiling.

"Of course I am. What exactly would you like to do while you're here? There's really not much." I warn, trying to keep my mind off of my impending nuptials and the feelings that come along with it.

She peeks around into several rooms and hallways around the ground floor, and turns to me, "Where is that adorable brother of yours? The one who really liked me before? I could use a little dose of him right about now."

I catch her by the arm, making her stop walking around, forcing her to look at me. For the first time I really see how much she's hurting, "Portia. What's going on?"

She lets that façade she was keeping up dissolve and she reaches up and clutches at my arms, my own hands holding onto her shoulders, "Everything is falling apart. I never even talk to Cinna anymore – he spends most of his time out, doing things that he won't even tell me about. He's gone most nights of the week, or he gets back after I've gone to sleep. I just don't know anymore. We met in design school, and have been open and together since, and that was seven years ago. Now it's all just ending, and I don't even know why. My leading theory is that he's cheating on me. And I really needed to come and see you, because you're just so Peeta, and you can always make my problems seem small to me."

Leading her into the living room, I sit her on the couch, following suit myself, before turning her face to look at me, "Hey, you listen to me. Cinna doesn't know what he has going with you. Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side." I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, "That being said, I don't know what's going on with Cinna. But I do know that he wouldn't do anything to deliberately hurt you. And if he is hurting you so badly…" I hesitate before I say it, "maybe you should let him go."

She gives me a look like I've grown two heads, "Let him go?"

I think about my relationship with Katniss, "Portia, if you're that unhappy, you shouldn't stay in a relationship where you're feeling that way."

"Hey, don't pot and kettle me. You're with Katniss right now. Going to get married to her, even though everyone knows how she feels about you."

Ouch. Even though I know the situation, hearing it thrown back at me from someone else – especially someone like Portia, who has been involved with what's really going on every step of the way – makes me feel sick… and then there's that other feeling swirling around in there with my misery. I recognize it as anger. Kind of amazed, I'm shocked to realize that I am _angry_ at Portia. It's the anger that pushes me to say, "Yes, I'm with Katniss. Because lives depend on it. If you recall, when I got the slap in the face that she didn't love me, I didn't cling onto her and keep pretending we had a relationship. We weren't together until we had to be."

But as she looks up at me, looking like I just gave her a slap in the face, my irritation fades away. Before I can apologize, she says quietly, "I'm clinging and pretending Cinna and I still have a relationship. That's what you really think?"

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her closer, "I guess I do. But I understand, I really do. He loved you for years, and if I was in a position where I knew that Katniss had loved me once upon a time, I'd try to hold on and make it work."

She lays her head on my shoulder, "But once upon a time can't last forever. There has to come a point where enough is enough."

I rub her arm, "That's up for you to decide. Don't let anyone's opinion, even mine, influence what's right for you."

She shakes her head and pulls away from me, "No, sometimes you need someone else's opinion to help you see what's the right path. Someone's opinion who is smart and would tell you the truth even when it hurts, and that person is you."

I can see the resolve in her eyes and I know what she's going to do. And I know how completely crappy it feels to be in her position, "Listen, I'll be here for you to talk to, whenever you need me. We can commiserate."

She gives me a small smile and takes a deep breath, pushing herself up, "Well, I don't want to commiserate today. I want to forget about my problems and have fun with you. We can start by… taking a tour."

I follow suit and stand after her, smiling wryly, "It's District Twelve… there's not much to take a tour of."

She snaps her fingers, "The bakery. Show me where the magic happens."

"All right." So she links her arm through mine and we leave the Village, going into town.

While we walk, she says, "You're so quiet. Point stuff out to me. Give me the scoop behind everything. Show me District Twelve in all its' glory."

Lifting a brow, I think of my districts' "glory" and look to the Seam and the stocks. All of the rundown buildings in town. This is just not Portia's life and, as much as I love her, she wouldn't understand what it's like to see someone be whipped or see people starve to death. So I say the truth in as little detail as possible, "District Twelve isn't really glorious."

Then she's quiet too, until we reach the bakery. I reach for the handle to the storefront and before I pull it open, I say, "Prepare yourself… there's a lot of Mellark's in here. And they're not all as _wonderful_ as I am."

She waves her hand, "Come on, I'm certain they're great."

"Okay." And I open the door, letting her step in before me. Right into an all-out war zone. Haylee, almost four months pregnant now, stands in tears, her hands on her hips, screaming at Thyler. Right next to her is another girl – I recognize her as Haylee's best friend, Aleksa – who is also screaming, and Haylee's mother is right behind the pair. Also screaming.

Across from them, like they're in a boxing match or something, is Thyler, who's not yelling back, but speaking quietly, which is what he does when he gets really mad. Next to him is Luc, who _does_ yell when he's mad, and he is. My father is standing back, watching the scene unfold, and my mother is nowhere to be seen.

It takes me a moment to sort out what each person is saying, but finally, I get the gist. Haylee is accusing Thyler of cheating on her, and is being prodded by her mother to keep it up, and Aleksa is screaming the same accusations as Haylee. Thyler is saying that she's being ridiculous, of course he isn't cheating on her; he loves her. Luc is shouting at them, how dare they accuse his brother of cheating.

I step forward, between the groups, and hold my hands out to both of them, yelling, "Hey! Cut it out!"

They don't listen, but then there's an ear splitting whistle that cuts the noise into silence. I spin around, and realize that the whistle came from Portia. She's looking a bit satisfied with herself, and I smile at her, before Haylee asks, "Who the heck are you?"

Aleksa steps forward, "I bet she's the bitch Thyler's been cheating with! She has that look about her."

Portia's mouth falls open, "Excuse you, but I'm no adulteress. And I have a 'look' about me? Girl, try a mirror. I have a look that screams fabulous, you on the other hand…"

Aleksa plants a hand on her hip, "Oh, bring it on."

Quickly, I step between the two, "Wait, wait, wait. This is Portia, my friend and stylist. She came to visit me. Why don't we have less "bring it on" and more explanation."

Now my father steps forward, walking to Haylee, and persuading her to sit down, "This won't be good for the baby. That sounds like the best thing said in here all day, Peeta."

From there, everything goes smoothly. Haylee accused Thyler of never being home when he wasn't working, and always being secretive about where he was going. And Aleksa saw him with Cherie Rubenstein, a young woman who grew up more in Haylee's neighborhood than ours. Then my brother shocks everyone, by giving Haylee a key and telling her that he has been sneaking out and he did meet with Cherie, but it was about buying her recently deceased grandfathers' house. Which, it turns out, is Haylee's dream house that she's loved ever since she was little.

There's tears and apologies, and my father gives Thyler a half hour off to walk Haylee back to the house and get her situated. As they leave, my father turns to Portia, "It's nice to meet you."

Then we hear my mother coming down the stairs, and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she's mad, so I usher Portia back out the door, "Sorry about all that."

She claps, her face glowing, "Are you kidding? That was the most interesting thing I've seen in weeks. And seeing your brother and his wife, and how much they really love each other makes it easier for me to know what I need to do."

The next night, when me, Luc, and our parents arrive at Haylee's parents house for dinner, Thyler invited us in. "I wouldn't mention the new house to them tonight," he tells us. "They're not exactly thrilled that Haylee's leaving."

As he leads us down the hall, he opens the door to a study, explaining, "We're having appetizers in here while the chef gets dinner on the table."

Haylee's parents greet us and then her younger sister Kery runs into the room, turning on the television. Haylee's father asks, "Kery, what is all of this about?"

Her eyes are glued to the television as she answers, "Today in school they told us that we really had to watch the television, starting like five minutes ago."

So we all turn to the TV, where President Snow is saying, "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

Wow. Haymitch's Games, and he outlived forty-seven people. I don't even want to think of how difficult it must have been, especially when I think about how I barely survived the deaths of twenty-two others. But the Games aren't for a few months yet, and confusion is in the lead as I look at my father, "What's going on?"

"I think this is the reading of the card. This year is going to be a Quarter Quell, so we're about to find out what it is the Gamemakers have in store." He informs me.

I turn my attention back to the television, my stomach twisting in knots. I have a terrible feeling, anxiety making my palms sweat as Snow announces, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Everyone in the room turns to face me as I feel the blood drain from my face. It could either be Haymitch or myself, but it's not us I'm worried about. It's Katniss. She will definitely be going back in that arena. And she will be the one coming out. I made sure of it once, and, as my father's hand touches my shoulder, I straighten up and take a deep breath. I'll make sure of it again.

I knew everything has been too quiet lately.

* * *

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	14. No More Mr Nice Peeta

All at once after the announcement, everything around me leaps into action. Haylee's parents and sister all band together, as if they're afraid they'll get sucked into this Mellark chaos. Haylee wraps her arm around Thyler's waist, and tries to pull him back, because he's advancing on me, talking, at the same time as my father, Lucern, and my mother are.

I can't understand what they're saying. All of their lips are moving so fast, they're making hand gestures, they're just all coming in so close and I need to _think_. There is no time now. Now, every moment counts. And I can't make it all count if they're all closing in and I just can't concentrate here, and –

Haymitch.

He pops into my mind seemingly out of nowhere, but it seems my subconscious has given me the answer I need. Without another word, I turn and run away from my family, out of the study, and out of this house. With one destination in mind. As I go, people watch me from their windows. Some point, whisper.

But all I can think about now is how I need to get to Haymitch's house. He was the one who had my back during the last Games, he was the one who agreed to get Katniss home for me. And he _will_ do it again.

Out of breath, I practically fly up his front steps and slam his door open. I don't even have to call for him or go looking. He was in the process of walking back up from the basement, getting a full bottle of white liquor, and he pauses as he sees me, "Well, that didn't take you long at all, did it?"

"I'm going back in the arena, Haymitch. And you're going to let me. Please?" I expect for him to readily agree – I know he doesn't want to go back into the arena. Even he knows he couldn't last in there for a day.

Except he's not being easy about this. Then again, it's Haymitch. Why would I have expected him to be easygoing about anything? "Maybe I'm done caring about my life, ever think of that? Maybe I want to be in that arena for that reason."

I throw my arms into the air, exasperated, "Seriously, Haymitch? You can't even give me this one thing?"

"Seriously, Peeta?" He mocks me, before going on, this time actually being serious, "You listen to me, boy. Maybe I you to be the one to live for sure. Maybe I want you to be the mentor, because I think you deserve to live the most. How about that?"

Even though I know he doesn't want me to do this, I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder, "Thank you. That means a lot to me, Haymitch. But if you respect me enough to say that and mean it, I think you should respect me enough to let me go into that arena and help me get her out alive. You chose her before – and I wanted you to – but you still chose her to live. Now, I think you owe me. Anything I want. And what I want is the chance to go in again and protect Katniss."

"Fine," he snarls at me.

I stand firm, and look him in the bloodshot eye, "Promise me."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise." He just looks me at me for a long moment and takes a swig of his bottle, "You do so much for her, boy, and she doesn't deserve any of it."

I shake my head in disagreement, "Haymitch, don't say things like that. Just don't. Because it's not true. I'm not a saint or anything. I'm just… a boy who loves a girl." As gears shift in my mind, and I start to really think about the limited time we have left, I step backwards, toward the door, "I have to go. I'll be back to see you tomorrow."

"Whatever. Crazy kid." And I see him start toward the kitchen, tipping his head back and downing alcohol by the gulp.

Fine. He can go ahead and be that way. He can sit at his kitchen table and drink just like everything is the same as it has always been. For tonight. But if he thinks he's going to be living like he has been for the past however many years, he's in for a rude awakening. Ideas swirl around in my mind of what I can do, coming together to form the beginning dregs of a plan.

We need to be prepared this time. It hasn't even been a full year since we were reaped and competed in the Games, but we aren't, for all intents and purposes, kids anymore. I'm not just the kid from the bakery and she's not just the illegal hunter. We are Hunger Games victors, and we need to be able to act like it. Last year, we somehow succeeded in winning with our already-had skill, with some sheer luck thrown in.

This year it will be different. Last year, our competitors consisted of a bunch of trained but never-before-seen-combat Careers, and a lot of unprepared people from other districts. This year, every single person who will be in that arena with us will have won in an arena. Not only will the Careers be Careers, but they will be ones who walked into their own Games, took out the competition, and went on to coach and mentor more and more tributes every year. The unskilled others from Districts Three, Five through Eleven, will now be replaced by people who have won by knowing what they're doing.

Thinking about all of those others, the idea strikes me, and I run into my house, rushing to my phone. Sometimes I have surprisingly good ideas. I look up the number in my small directory, then wait for three rings, until Effie's voice picks it up, "Hello?"

"Effie, it's Peeta."

I hear her swift intake of breath before she responds, "Oh, Peeta, how are you? This is such a surprise, you've never called me before."

Cutting straight to the chase, I say, "I need you to do me a favor. You have access to all of the previous Games' recordings, right? I need you to send them to me here right away."

She's quiet for a moment before she says, "So… you know."

"Yes. Can you send me the footage or not?" I don't mean to be so short with her, but I have so much on my mind.

"Of course I can. Expect them tomorrow afternoon. I'll put a rush order on it." As she answers, I kick myself for not hearing it before, at the same time that I'm slightly mystified. Effie's voice is heavy with tears. And I'm led to believe that they are tears about us. She knows that Katniss is going back into the arena, and so might Haymitch or I. She cares about us, and it has to be hard for her, knowing that we're going back in to the arena, at least one of us facing certain death. I can see her being upset about me, even Katniss, but Haymitch?

And then it hits me. Yes, they are constantly bickering, arguing, fighting. Nine out of ten times, if they're in the same vicinity, they're fuming. But they are really the only two constants the other has in terms of the Hunger Games, which is a huge part of life for both of them. Year after year, they both coach and get attached to tributes who, before last year, have all died. But Effie can always count on Haymitch being infuriating and completely drunk, always with the snarky comment to make.

But I don't have time to feel sympathy for her, not now, not when I'm not allowing myself to feel it for Katniss or Haymitch or myself. This is time to be serious. So all I say is, "Thank you very much. I'll be seeing you soon." Too soon.

"Yes, you're welcome. Goodbye." She answers and we both hang up.

I stand in my dark hallway, looking around, trying to think. Katniss is going to want to be "fair" to me. I know that. I can already imagine her, trying to do what she thinks would be the right thing, regardless of what she knows I would want or what she would really want, deep down. I need to be able to convince her to save herself, even when we're in the Capitol. Something more than words.

Trying to think of what can really ground someone, what can make them see a larger picture, it hits me. Art. When I look at a piece of art, and have that visual, it's like I've been cut off at the knees. What she's going to need is to _see_ her family to remind her that they will need her. But how… I can't very well take a painting of them with me.

But painting isn't the only form of art I have available to me, is it?

Thus starts my frantic search for a camera I have laying around the house somewhere. It's not really my preferred method of visual art, so I've never really kept track of it while I organized. I'm upstairs, in the attic, digging through all of the packed away art supplies that I have but never use when I hear the front door open, and my brother calls out for me.

I yell back my location, and minutes later, he finds me. Walking to where I am, Luc looks around, "What happened to you back there, man? You just disappeared on us, and now you're crawling around through the dusty attic?"

There it is! I pull out the camera and dust it off on my shirt while I answer, "I had to think. Now I know."

I stand up with the intention of going to Katniss' house and getting Prim and Mrs. Everdeen on my side with this whole plan but my brother's hand on my arm stops me, "Peeta, stop. I watched the last Games you were in. I saw how you protected her then. And you need to put all that focus on yourself now."

I shake my head at him, "No. I need to step up my game to protect Katniss this year."

Now both of his hands come up to grab onto my shoulders, "Now you listen to me, okay? I'm not asking you to put all your effort into coming home for yourself, because you're not that kind of guy. I'm asking you to do it for me. I already said goodbye to you before and let you go and it killed me. You need to come back because… just look around us. This is all you. I need you here, buddy. Dad? He needs you, too. You're the only non-crazy person in his family. And Thyler? Come on, where would any of us be without you? You're going to have a niece or nephew soon. I'm asking you to come home for him or her."

And his eyes are glassy with tears, something I've never seen from him before. It makes my own want to start. "Don't you think I want to come back to all of you, too? I want to see Thyler and Haylee's baby learn to walk and talk, and I want to be able to do the toasting of the bread at your wedding someday. But I can't just stand by and watch her die. I won't. You and Thyler and dad will all be able to move on from me. Without her, Katniss' family will fall apart."

I pull out of his grasp now, and before he can start talking again, and make me feel something other than this self-imposed numbness, I look him in the eye, "Lucern, I'm a man. I'm able to look past myself and at the bigger picture. At the futures of those around me, and I'm able to make choices that sacrifice the one for a greater good. Can you?"

He looks taken aback by my little outburst, but the words sober him up and the emotion on his face kind of falls away. In fact, now he's kind of looking at me with something akin to awe, as he stands up straight. "I can't promise to be the same kind of man as you. But I can try. What do you need me to do?"

I hand him the camera in my hands, "I need you to get a picture, a good one, of Katniss' family. Get them to laugh, I know you can. And then meet me at the bakery."

He salutes me, "Aye, aye, captain." And he marches out of the attic.

I shut all of the drawers I just ripped apart, and follow him out, making my way to the bakery, with one thing in mind. My mother has a locket, one she intended on giving to the daughter she never had. It's been in her family for generations, and now it's locked away in her jewelry box, with her bitterly thinking about how it'll never serve its purpose of being worn by her daughter.

Opening the door to the bakery, I look at my mother, who is back behind the front counter, wiping it down. She spares me a glance, "It's about time you showed back up. Your father is out looking for you."

"Mom, I have a favor to ask of you." I start out, and the way she stops what she's doing and just perches her hand on her hip, as if she's already expecting to say no to whatever I ask angers me. "That locket you have, I would really like to borrow it."

She lets out a snort, "No. The only person who will ever wear that is me, when I'm buried in it. It's my family's heirloom."

"I'm going to die. I'm in the midst of making these last few months into the most prepared suicide mission ever, and I am your son. You can have it back when the Capitol sends you my dead body." I've never seen her eyes widen that much or seen her at a loss for words, like she is now. Then again, I've never spoken that way to her before.

It takes her a few moments to answer, but she eventually says, "That locket has been meant to be worn by a woman in my family since it's origination. Why should I give it to you?"

This is what snaps me. I feel as though I can hear myself break and a volcano of rage rolls through me, "I'm sorry that I wasn't a daughter, and I get that I was your last hope at having the girl you always dreamed of. And, even as a fetus in you womb, I was already failing you by being a man. I understand that you're angry and bitter at the world and I've dealt with it since childhood, and I can take that you don't think much of me. But I can't believe that you would be so unfeeling that you won't even let me use a locket that you don't even intend on wearing until you die, for a few months. You once told me that Katniss was a survivor, and you knew then that she was coming home. Well, have faith now that she is still a survivor, and have faith in the fact that I may not be one myself, but I am a helper. And I will help her survive. But I need that locket to do so. If you want to, consider it my dying wish. Think whatever you need to. Just give me the locket."

She turns and walks away from me, which pretty much just shocks the heck out of me. I was expecting her to swear at me, maybe throw something. Not in my life did I expect she would actually go get the locket. But she does. And she hands it to me silently. Holding it reverently, I say, "Thank you." Before turning my back to her and walking to the door.

As I pull it open, she says from behind me, "And it was never you who I was disappointed in having be a boy. It wasn't you who made me… the way I am." Thinking maybe this could be a moment of bonding between the two of us, I turn back around, only for her to say, "It was Lucern."

So I just leave the store, and run into said brother in the process. He hands me the camera, "Done. Surprisingly nice people, I think. What were you…" he trails off as his eyes widen, looking at what's in my hands, "How in the world did you get that locket from mom?"

"Dedication. Thanks." I take the camera from him, starting toward the Seam.

I hear him following behind me as he asks, "Where are you going now?"

Without stopping, I answer, "I'm getting Gale Hawthorne to smile."

Now he stops, "Uh… good luck with that. I'll be back at the house when you decide to stop on your mission and come home."

I wave at him over my shoulder and continue onward. Next to Prim, Gale has to be who Katniss cares the most about. Before all the drama of the Hunger Games and myself came along, she had to have thought she would have a future with him. And while we're in that new arena, she has to keep him in mind, and be reminded of that future she could have with him.

When I get to the Hawthorne household, I knock on the door and wait. It takes a few minutes, but finally it swings open, and I have Gale looking down at me, scowling, "What do you want? You woke up Posy."

I look beyond him and see a little girl rubbing her eyes from sleep. I manage to work up a smile for her, "I'm sorry for waking you up." In my mind, I replace her black hair with blonde and gray eyes with blue, and suddenly it's like what my niece will look like in a few years.

She smiles at me tiredly, " 'Sokay."

Gale shifts to block my view of her, and crosses his arms at me, before turning to face the little girl, his voice immeasurably softer as he says, "Posy, go back to bed. I'll come in and re-check for monsters in a minute. Make Vick sit with you until then, okay?"

She nods and shuffles away, and Gale looks at me, "What?"

"I need your help." I tell him, but before I can explain, I see his eyes flash in anger, and he stops me from going any farther.

"You're asking me for a favor? The only reason I haven't slammed this door in your face by now is because, for some reason, my mother seems to like you, and you gave that coat to my brother. But that can only get you so far. Doesn't extend to favors." I see his hand tighten on the handle, and I know he's about to shut the door in my face.

I reach out and stop the door from shutting, "Gale. Wait. I understand why you hate me. I'm not going to bother relating myself to you because I know you wouldn't care, and all you need to know is that right now, we're both thinking about the same thing. We both want Katniss to be safe. All I'm asking from you is to work with me to accomplish it."

He narrows his eyes at me, but leans against the doorjamb, "I'm listening."

So I tell him about my plan, about the locket with a picture of Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, and, hopefully, one with him, finishing with, "I'm not a fool. I know you two should be together, and I came in the way of that. All I'm asking from you now is to help me make that happen." And I gesture to the camera.

He lets out a sigh, "Fine. Let's do it." And then he stands there, staring me down, after a moment asking, "Well, aren't you going to take the picture?"

I look at him, "Uh… you know, I would, but I just think it would work a little bit better if maybe you showed your… brighter side?" When I see a muscle in his jaw twitch I hold my hands up to reason with him, "Hey, I just think it would work better. Think of… seeing your siblings having everything they could ever dream of, how happy they would be. Think of giving your mother the life she deserves, where she doesn't need to work anymore." A ghost of a smile is pulling at his lips now, and I encourage it, "Think of being with Katniss. Like back in the before days, when you went hunting together so often. Think of the way you would feel holding her in your arms as you fell asleep. Holding her hand and taking the braid out of her hair."

Now it's a full blown smile, and I snap the camera before I lose it. It seems to flash brings him back to reality and his smile is back to a scowl. I give him a smile of my own, "Thank you. Sorry for waking up your sister."

I walk away from the front door and he says behind me, "I wish you were a jerk. Anyone ever tell you that you're a hard person to hate?"

I turn around to face him while I walk, saying back, "No, never heard that before. But I can understand where you're coming from."

And I think I see an actual chuckle coming from him when he shuts the door. Making my way back to the Village, I walk up my front steps, looking over at Haymitch and Katniss' houses before I go in, when something in Haymitch's catches my eye. Through the window I see both he and Katniss drinking white liquor. Drowning their sorrows. _Enjoy it while it lasts_, I think, before going into my house.

I get a few hours of sleep, not being woken up bright and early from nightmares, like usual, but from just being too wired to sleep. I make my way down to the art room, and look at the two photos I've developed, the perfect size to slip into the locket. They're perfect. I get the locket ready, then go into my room and slip it into my bedside table for safe keeping until I'll need it.

I quickly shower and get dressed, intending to put my next part of the plan into action. It all came together so perfectly in my mind last night, after I saw them drinking. That whole drinking thing could be a big damper on my plans. Because to be ready, not only do we have to anticipate our other opponents, but we have to be on the top of our game as well. And that means training. Long, hard training. And not just me and Katniss; to have a strong team, we need all of the members to be strong.

The schedule is already written out in a notebook I have. In the morning we will run – as fast and far as our bodies can go, and then some. I'll show them how to lift heavy weights properly, without hurting themselves, like the bags of flour. And then we'll cool down with some stretches, before we have a healthy, strong lunch that I'm sure Katniss' mother won't mind planning out.

After that, we will move on to survival. I'll teach them how to wrestle and Katniss will teach us everything she knows – training with bows and arrows, climbing, even. And then we'll practice skills none of us are particularly adept at but that we are able to have access to, like throwing knives. And then we'll separate, each going to have a hearty dinner, showering, and relaxing, before we reconvene and go over the tapes Effie is sending over of all of our possible competitors.

We have just over three months to make us into perfect tributes. And I'm going to see that it gets done.

And if we're going to accomplish all of this, we aren't going to be able to do it as a team if Haymitch will be drinking the whole time. Which puts phase two into action. I leave my house and make my way into town, down to the warehouse that I know Ripper, the distributor of alcohol, operated out of now that the Hob is gone.

Walking up to her little stand, I look around to make sure it's safe to talk while she looks at me, waiting. To get to the point, I tell her, "I don't want you selling to Haymitch anymore. Or Katniss, if she ever comes looking, for that matter."

She shakes her head and barks out a laugh, "Haymitch Abernathy gives me half of my business. No way."

I take out a pouch that I filled with coins before I left the house and lay it on the counter, "I'll make you a deal. All of this is yours – I guarantee it's as much as Haymitch would give you in the span of half a year – and I won't let it slip to any of the Peacekeepers where your new shop is set up."

She looks at me suspiciously and snatches up the coins, her eyes widening as she sees how much I put in there, before looking back at me, "Deal."

"I thought you'd see it my way." I grin at her, and add on, "But let me make it clear that the _minute_ I see Haymitch – or Katniss – with a bottle of alcohol in their possession, you will be hearing from a Peacekeeper or two."

She holds her hand out to me, "I understand."

Shaking hers, I clasp it between both of mine, "Thank you." And then I leave, getting back up to the Village a few minutes later, and not going to my house, but to Haymitch's. The door isn't locked and I just let myself in, hearing him snoring from rooms away immediately. Perfect. Gives me the jumpstart I need. I go into his kitchen and start there, grabbing one of the cardboard boxes he has stacked up in the corner, and tear apart the room, emptying every single one of the liquor bottles I find down the sink.

When I'm satisfied that there's none left, I leave and go to a new room. And repeat. The entirety of the downstairs is done hours later, and then I go into the basement, draining every drop of alcohol from the area, and then make my way up the stairs. While I'm there, going through all of the rooms, I hear movement from downstairs, and I'm grateful that I'm practically done before Haymitch realizes there's no alcohol for him to have around here and comes looking for me.

Pouring the last of it out the window, and tossing the glass bottle into my handy box, I grab the thing and haul it downstairs with me, going into the kitchen where I hear both Haymitch and Katniss' voices. Walking in and preparing myself to stand strong and be tough, no matter what comes at me, I toss the box onto the table, satisfied by the clanks of all the bottles slamming together. "There," I say, "It's done."

Neither of them are looking particularly good today, in fact, they both look really hung-over, and it takes Katniss minutes before she's able to ask, "What's done?"

And here's the kicker… "I've poured all the liquor down the drain." Okay, well, some of it went out the window, some of it dripped onto the floor. But they get the point.

Well, Haymitch certainly does, and he jumps up, giving me half of the reaction I expected, as he searches through the bottles, checking to see if they are all really empty. He's practically breathless when he asks, "You what?"

I know he heard me, but I think it might take a while for him to have it sink in, "I tossed the lot," I repeat for impact.

Katniss tells me, "He'll just buy more."

Oh, but what she doesn't know. I fill her in on my activity this morning, and as soon as I'm done with that little tale, Haymitch has a knife on me. He is actually _trying_ when he swipes at me with it, and the fact that I can deflect by just stepping sideways and brushing his hand off just doubly influences my opinion that I did the complete right thing.

I can hear the anger in Katniss' voice as she asks, "What business is it of yours what he does?"

Is she joking me right now? "It's completely my business." It's all of our business, and it's up to all of us to keep each other in the tip-top shape for the next few months. "However it falls out, two of us are going to be in the arena again with the other as mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team." If Katniss and I are stepping up our game as tributes, Haymitch needs to step up his as mentor. And that means being sober. This is all for her benefit, and I add on, "Especially not you, Katniss."

She's trying hard to be outraged, and I can see it, but working through her hangover, it doesn't quite have the same impact on me. "What? Last night's the only time I've ever been drunk."

That wasn't quite the meaning I had when I said it, but regardless, I go along with what she's saying, to give her less confusion, "Yeah, and look at the shape you're in."

It seems she's done dealing with me for the moment, and she turns to Haymitch, telling him she will be the one to buy him more liquor. But that's just too damn bad, because there is no more Mr. Nice Peeta. "Then I'll turn you both in. Let you sober up in the stocks."

Haymitch asks, "What's the point to this?"

I can't believe how dumb that question is. How dumb he's being – they're both being – about what I've just done. Well, they'll see that what I've done is the right thing. Eventually. For now, they can be mad at me, just like I'm irritated at them, "The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol." _You two_, "One mentor and one victor. Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. And one of us –" _Katniss_, even though the apparent low regard she has for her life is annoying me, " – is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!"

I leave the house and slam the door behind me for good measure. I don't talk to them for another three days, until they both come to me, agreeing to train. And we do. For the next three months.

* * *

**On the road again... Thanks for reading, and review please!**


	15. To The Capitol We Go

They didn't let me say goodbye. Immediately after I do the not-surprising thing and take Haymitch's place, I'm ushered into a car and put on the train. No stop in the Justice Building, where I would say my last words to my family. Words I have been thinking about for weeks now.

I look over at Katniss and see that she looks like she's been gutted. And even though I haven't been normal comforting Peeta lately, instead turning into serious, training Peeta, I don't want to see her looking so lost, so sad, and I want to try to comfort her. "We'll write letters, Katniss. It'll be better, anyway. Give them a piece of us to hold on to." Something they'll always have to remember us by. To hold in their hands and know with certainty that they were loved. "Haymitch will deliver them for us if… they need to be delivered." That's almost unbearable for me to think about. Because no doubt _mine_ will need to be delivered, but the only reason hers would be, is because I failed at my job.

But I just can't fail. I can't. I won't. Katniss doesn't say anything back to me, and I can tell she's not into the idea with the letters. She just walks away. I follow suit and go into my own room, where I pick up the same notebook I had written down my planned training schedule, which also holds notes I've taken about every single living victor of the Hunger Games. Flipping to the empty section of paper, I reach for a pen and address the first letter.

I tell my dad that he has taught me everything I know, and he has made me into the man I am today. I thank him for giving me my morals and always letting me make my own choices. I simply tell my mother the only nice thing I have for her – I love you. I tell Thyler to tell Haylee that I love her, and to please not let their child grow up without knowing of me. I tell him to go into the attic of my house in Victors' Village, where Luc is still living, and that there he will find presents I bought for all of his future child's birthdays. I tell Lucern that he has such a bright future ahead and that one day, I know he'll be able to find his happiness. To both of my brothers, I tell them that they were the best ones I could have imagined having. And I tell all of my family where I put all the money I had.

Before I left, I divided it up. I just handed Luc his share, which he accepted. I knew Thyler wouldn't directly take his, so I gave it to Haylee, who put it away for the both of them. I knew my parents wouldn't take theirs, so I just hid it in my old bedroom one day and I tell my dad in his letter to treat them to something nice a few times a year, on me.

I close the notebook just as Effie knocks on my door, announcing, "Dinnertime!" Before I hear her walk away, presumably to retrieve Katniss. When we're all in the dining room of the train, I have flashbacks to this same thing, a year ago. Like when Effie said some comment about how terrible table manners the Seam kids she was escorting before us had. How Katniss pointedly used poor table manners for the rest of the night.

Looking around us, as we all sit down in our chairs, I think of how so much has changed. And, yet, some things are still the same. As the server, before giving out the meals, first pours Effie her wine, I make eye contact at her, and nudge my head toward Haymitch. She looks at him, and seems surprised when she realizes he isn't drunk, nor is he drinking. And she understands my message, and looks back at the server as he sets the first course in front of her, handing him her glass of wine in exchange for water.

We all eat the soup in silence, and as we receive the next course of fish cakes, I'm sick of the quiet, so I say, "These look delicious, don't they?"

Effie is the only one who answers, "Absolutely delectable."

But no one else says anything and we fall back into silence, until the main course is served, and Effie asks, "So what have you all been up to recently?"

I look at Haymitch and Katniss, who are both just eating their meals, not intent on speaking, so I do. "Well, we've just been…" I can't talk about training here, because, even though the law about it isn't enforced, it's still illegal and I don't want to take any chances, "hanging out. Not doing anything particularly fun. What about you?"

She shrugs, "I've been to a few social engagements, and done some paperwork at the Capitol headquarters, but nothing different from the usual."

And then we're quiet again. As we finish up the dessert, I search for something else to say, and finally realize what's different about Effie. Her hair. It prompts me to compliment her, "I love your new hair, Effie."

She smiles and fluffs it up, "Thank it. I had it especially done to match Katniss' pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team."

And suddenly, I realize that I've never had more of an appreciation for Effie Trinket. A team. We are all a team, and she is acting like it. "I think that's a great idea." I tell her, honestly. Then I picture Haymitch wearing a bracelet and I'm just really amused, which prods me into looking at him and joking, "How about it, Haymitch?"

He doesn't even look at me as he answers, "Yeah, whatever." And it makes me feel a bit bad, it really does. For better or for worse, alcohol made Haymitch into the man I came to care about. It dulled his pain and made the world livable for him, and I took it away. It had to be done for the good of the team, but still.

Katniss makes a joke about Haymitch wearing a wig, too, but he's not amused. When Effie suggests we watch the recap of the reapings, and I immediately hop out of my chair, "Don't start without me, I'll be right back."

And I jog to my room to get the notebook. In this notebook is a list of all fifty-nine possible contenders we could be up against, and after preparing for months, I have not only their name down, but their age, what year they won, and how they won. Now it's time for the big unveiling. Who will be the people we are going to have to beat?

I settle down onto the couch with Katniss and Effie, as Haymitch stands off to the side to watch. Taking a deep breath, I'm ready to watch and ignore any reactions or comments Effie or Haymitch might make. This is time for concentration.

It starts with the people from One, who have volunteers for the male and the female spots. Gloss and Cashmere. I flip around in my notebook while the camera focuses on them, and find their pages. She won in the sixty-third Games, when she was fifteen, and he won in the sixty-fourth Games, when he was fifteen. Both of them took out the competition mercilessly.

In District Two we see even more volunteers, starting with Brutus. I flip around to find him, coming to see that he won in his Games when he was seventeen, and it was a few years before Haymitch won his own Games. He took out nearly half of the other competitors by himself. Then there's Enobaria, and I have to flip several pages back the other way, to the one right before Gloss. She won the sixty-second Games, at age sixteen. She was vicious. Literally ripping the throat out of someone else's neck with her teeth. I mark her down with two stars, noting that she will be hard up competition.

District Three presents me with Beetee and Wiress, both of whom won, not by chance and not by brute force, but with their intellect. Beetee, so far, is the oldest one to be called, having won the thirty-third Games when he was sixteen. Wiress won the forty-sixth Games when she was fourteen.

From District Four, we have reaped Finnick Odair. He won ten years ago, at age fourteen. He is the youngest person we're up against so far, and seemingly the fiercest competition. I mark him with two stars as well, not taking any chances. I note that he is also a crowd favorite. They also reap a woman named Annie Cresta, and I flip to the sixty-seventh Games, about to put a star next to her name, when an extremely old woman volunteers to take her place. She is called Mags, and I go far back in the history of my notebook, to the tenth Games, where she won. Noting her age, I see that she's now eighty, and she was fifteen when she won.

Then we move on. The District Five male, Leon Rutgers, is someone who won by chance in his Games. According to my notebook, he's only thirty, having won the sixtieth Games, but he's looking rather worse for the wear, appearing to be more than ten years older than he really is. Judging by the bottle in his hand, he's chosen the same life as Haymitch after he won. The female, Agatha Bernhard, won the fifty-fourth Hunger Games, and she won by a mixture of being crafty and by chance.

For District Six, the two who are reaped won Games three years apart from each other. Ami Hardener and Kaver Dock, both of whom are around sixty, but they've both clearly turned to substances harder than alcohol to dull their pain. I put stars next to their names, and move on.

Next up is Johanna Mason from District Seven. I remember her without even having watched her tape. She won the seventy-first Games, when she was seventeen. Putting her at age twenty-one, which makes her the closest in age to me and Katniss. She pretended to be weak and emotionally fragile, and stayed tapered off by herself for the majority of her Games, until it was down to the grind, and she proved everyone wrong and went on a killing streak. Two stars. Right after her is Blight Wind. He's twenty-six, and rather bumbling. He won by hiding out until his competition killed each other off, in the sixty-sixth Games. The obligatory one star.

The first to be reaped for District Eight is Woof, an older man, slightly younger than Mags, who won his Games five years after she did. One star. The next to be reaped is a woman named Cecelia, who won the fifty-ninth Games. She was a very intuitive person, and managed to pick up on things quickly, much like Wiress did.

District Nine gives one tribute who is in his fifties, Duke Lexar, and another who is in her forties, Jacy Fiddle. Both of whom look terrified now, and, recalling their tapes as I mark them down, won by chance as well. The ones from Ten, Benton Graft and Chrissy Stewart, are in the same boat.

For District Eleven, there is a man named Chaff, who is about Haymitch's age, and it missing an arm. If I remember correctly, and I do, he and Haymitch are buddies. One of the very few that Haymitch has. After him, there's the woman named Seeder. She's older, having won the twenty-seventh Games, around age sixty, but she looks like she's lived a clean life after her Games. Even so. One star.

And then it's us. While we're being shown, I go through the other twenty-two people I just marked down. Inside of me, good Peeta is screaming to _feel_. He wants to feel bad for all of the tributes like Mags and Woof, who are too old to be able to properly defend themselves. He wants to cry out at the injustice of taking someone like Cecelia, a rarity among tributes who seems to have found happiness after competing, away from her family. He wants to feel sympathy for the ones like Chaff, the pair from Six, and the guy from Five, the ones, like Haymitch, who couldn't even face life without unnatural substances after going through the horrors of the Games.

But Career Peeta forces them down. Because no matter what I really do feel for these people, it doesn't matter. They are all going to have to die, even if Katniss and I don't win, practically all of them will die, anyway. Right now, it's not time for me to think of how depressing and unfair it is – it's time for me to strategize about how we can win.

Haymitch walks away without a word, and I think of how hard this must be for him. These people, not even just ones like Chaff, have been among the small amount of people who he has been able to relate to and talk with, for twenty-five years. And now he's watching them, and us, go in to die. It can't be easy.

Effie stands, and she's visibly upset, too. She's only been an escort for about ten years, so she doesn't know most of these tributes the way Haymitch does. But she has a different relationship with them – that of a Capitol citizen. To the Capitol, I think each and every victor of the Games is someone they adore. She flattens out her skirt, "Goodnight, you two."

Katniss nods at her and I wave, and she's gone. Then Katniss silently just watches me, as I go through my notebook, and rip out page by page of victors I was prepared to face that weren't chosen. Thirty-nine people who are safe. But I'm sure every victor had thought they were safe after they won. Safety can only last for so long.

As I get up to throw out the pages, I look at Katniss, seeing the weariness in her eyes, the dark circles around them, "Why don't you get some sleep?"

But she stalls and just keeps watching me, "What are you going to do?"

I lift my notebook, "Just review my notes awhile. Get a clear picture of what we're up against." When she just looks at me, still not moving, I think that she probably wants to know who we'll be facing, too, so I add on, "But I'll go over with you in the morning. Go to bed, Katniss."

She does, and I sit back down on the couch, looking at my notes. I do have the rudimentary notes, but now that I know exactly who we're facing here, I need more about them. I need to know not just how they won, but all of their strengths. All of their weaknesses. Only one way to do that.

I go into my room and retrieve the box of tapes. Before I take it out of my room, I throw out all of the years that I don't need, and stick with the ones I have, putting them in order of district – Gloss and Cashmere, Brutus and Enobaria, Beetee and Wiress, Finnick and Mags, Leon and Agatha, Kaver and Ami, Blight and Johanna, Woof and Cecelia, Duke and Jacy, Benton and Chrissy, Chaff and Seeder. I keep Haymitch's Games, too, because, even though we don't have to know his fighting technique, it's the only Quarter Quell we have to learn from.

I bring the box out and first pop in Gloss' tape. While they go through the reapings from that year, I get the list up in my notebook, and make three columns, separating everyone between categories based on threat level. The first level has Mags, Woof, Leon, Kaver, and Ami. Basically, people who are too old to be real threats or people who have wasted their lives away with substance abuse.

The second level has people who are of average or unknown threat level – Beetee, Wiress, Agatha, Blight, Cecelia, Duke, Jacy, Benton, Chrissy, Seeder. I end up putting Chaff in this category rather than the first one because he's a big guy who must be tough, based on his friendship with Haymitch.

And finally, we have the last category with the biggest threat level. Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus, Enobaria, Finnick, and Johanna. Then I pick up the remote control and fast forward, into the Games, playing during fighting scenes, marking down what Gloss does to defend, what spots he leaves open when he's on the offense. I finish his tape, and Cashmere's – both of them have the same fighting technique and style. Not surprising, given that they're siblings. I move on to Brutus' tape, and take notes on that. I'm almost through with it when Katniss' scream pierces the night.

Just months ago, I would have gone running to her room, slipped in beside her and comforted her, driving away the invisible scares. But now, I ignore that instinct and stay where I am. She doesn't need me to comfort her. What she needs is for me to protect her in the Games. And to do that, I need to keep doing what I'm doing.

Minutes later, when I hear her walking toward me from the hallway, the tape ends, and I'm up switching it when she comes in. Though I heard her having a nightmare, all I ask is, "Couldn't sleep?"

Her voice is quiet and she pulls her robe tight against her as she answers, "Not for long."

"Want to talk about it?" But even as I ask, I know she doesn't want to. Nine times out of ten, she doesn't want to.

She shakes her head in response, looking so sad, and shaken, and just… lost. I haven't been comforting in months, not since the Quell was announced. But I think this time I can make an exception. Because I can't turn her away when she's feeling like this, and I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her it'll be okay, as much as she wants me to do it. Wordlessly, I open my arms to her, and she walks right into them. We both hold tight, and I can tell that, even though she doesn't care for me the same way I do for her, she's missed this.

We only draw apart when a Capitol attendant comes to deliver Katniss some warm milk. While she speaks to him, catching what he is saying verbally, I look at him, understanding what he's thinking. To him, we are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, star-crossed lovers from District Twelve. He probably rooted for us along with the rest of the Capitol last year. And now, here we are again. He knows as well as we do that only one of us will live.

Katniss looks at me quizzically, "What's with him?"

Quietly, I answer, "I think he feels bad for us." To him, we are the couple who is desperately in love with each other, but destined not to be.

She snorts and pours milk into her mug, "Right."

But I wasn't kidding. I say as much. She retorts back about how she still doesn't agree with me, but before I can try to convince her again, she asks, "So, you're watching all the tapes again?"

"Not really," I tell her. "Just sort of skipping around to see people's different fighting techniques."

When she asks me who's next, in my order it would be Enobaria. But since I've kept her out of this whole process, I don't say that. I let her choose. She reaches in and picks a tape randomly. It's Haymitch's. Katniss looks at it and then back at me, "We never watched this one."

"No. I knew Haymitch didn't want to. The same way we didn't want to relive our own Games." And I kind of was on the fence whether I wanted to watch it or not. It's just… it's Haymitch. I couldn't even describe it to myself. I add on, trying to give a better reason, "And since we're all on the same team, I didn't think it mattered much."

She pokes back around in the tape box, "Is the person who won in twenty-five in here?"

"I don't think so. Whoever it was must be dead by now, and Effie only sent me victors we might have to face." I take the tape from her offering hand and hold it in my own, feeling like it's a lot heavier than the other tapes.

She voices my own thoughts about how it's the only Quell we have to learn from. Then she looks me in the eye, a mysterious glint in her gray ones, "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it."

I agree, take a deep breath, and put it in, before I back up onto the couch again. We watch the long, long reapings – doubly as long as usual – and all of the names blur together until we reach District Twelve. The first one called is Maysilee Donner, who is Madge's mom's twin sister. Katniss gasps, "She was my mother's friend."

And as we pan in on Maysilee, I see Katniss' mother, hugging her. I point her out, and but her that "I think" it's her mom – but I don't think it is. I know it is. Because she was a very beautiful young woman, and if you swap her eye and hair color with Katniss' they would be like twins. Then Haymitch is called, and it's really shocking to see him strut onto the stage. He looks strangely like Gale does now – the same height and dangerous aura – and then the Games begin.

Watching this many tributes die is sickening. Twice as much blood and gore as usual. We watch as Maysilee and Haymitch team up, and they continue on in Haymitch's direction – out to the very back of the arena, for some odd reason. They split up, and both of them are very detached about it. Or so one would think. But I catch the look in Haymitch's eyes as she leaves, and it's not the look he gives when he doesn't care.

Then he sits on the edge of the arena, his foot dislodging a pebble. It comes blasting back up. He's confused, as I am – because what the heck was that? – before he pushes himself up to stand and whips a rock, a bigger one, over the edge. This time it basically bounces back at him and lands in his fist. He is laughing, I guess it makes sense in his mind, but I'm still confused as to what it is.

But he stops laughing real quick, when we hear screaming. The more the screaming happens, the more I put together that it's Maysilee. I expect Haymitch to wait it out, but he runs for her. He runs for her because he cares, and he gets there too late to help, just holding her while she dies. I remember last year when I told Haymitch that I wanted to save Katniss in the arena. He was extremely pensive and sad and he called me a fool. I would bet anything that this is the reason why he thought I was dumb to be attached to someone in there. Because he watched as someone he cared about died as well.

It's sad, and I wish Haymitch was the type of person who would welcome comfort from a friend, even if it is years late. But I know he's not. We watch more, as Haymitch gets in a hardcore fight with the only person left, the female from One, resulting in the loss of eyes, the cutting out of organs, when he gets the idea to run back to the edge. She follows him, and throws an axe at him.

He dives just in time to avoid it, and the axe goes over the cliff, coming back up moments later to where it was thrown from, like he knew it would. Right back at the girl who threw it, who immediately drops dead, and Haymitch is pronounced the winner. I use the remote to stop the tape from playing any farther, still stuck on that force field thing. Trying to think of where I had seen it before.

Then it clicks. The Training Center, last year, when Cinna took me to the roof. He threw a penny at it, and the penny bounced back, zapping with energy. Just like the force field around the arena. I voice my thoughts aloud, "The force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. Haymitch found a way to turn it into a weapon." Though I never really imagined it his Games happening like that, it all makes sense. Haymitch hates the Capitol, and of course when he realized what he found, he laughed. He realized that he could turn their own protection mechanism against them.

Katniss starts laughing and going on about how it relates to us and the berries, but I don't quite follow what she says. She's jabbing me with her arm, trying to get me to see what's so funny, but I just shake my head at her, trying to communicate that I don't understand what's so funny. Then we hear Haymitch behind us and we both spin around.

He's drinking. But after what I just watched him go through, can I really blame him?

* * *

**Just thought I'd share: for some reason, Cecelia being reaped always made me really sad, ever since I first read the book. Just thinking about how she really seemed to escape the whole life of misery most victors live in, how she went on to get married and have kids – like she had a real life to live, and then she dies… I don't know, just whenever I read the part in CF about how she had three kids clinging onto her just really gets to me. **

**Also, for some reason, a few people asked my through messaging, seeing as how my chapter lengths vary, how short is my shortest chapter. Now, I'm not exactly sure why three people want to know this, but whenever I get more than two messages asking the same thing, I'll most likely always post the answer in a story. And the answer is: for all of my stories that I write for THG (Love Games, Burned, and my two SYOTs) the shortest chapters ever posted are 2,000 words. Not like authors note chapters, obviously, but I'll never post a chapter for a story for THG that is under 2,000 words because, if it is, I feel it can always be fleshed out more.  
**


	16. Pure

My thoughts that I had with Effie and the Capitol attendant, about how those in the Capitol have come to really care about Katniss and myself, and our relationship, in their own obsessive way are triply compounded when I'm with my prep team the next day, getting ready for the chariot ride.

I'm already showered, scrubbed, my hair blown dry and brushed. But they can't seem to bring themselves to stop touching me. Ravilla is crying, as she has been since they walked in and we started this whole thing. Her hands just stroke through my hair, as I hear her sobs, "I just… we all love you so much, Peeta."

I reach up and pat her hand, "It's okay."

Leontius keeps brushing the same thing of blush over my cheek, getting me camera ready. He's not crying, but he's had a few tears leak out, and he chokes out, "It's just so unfair."

I make eye contact with him, "Don't worry about me. You guys will move on and have a new tribute next year to make all camera presentable and pretty."

All at once, Ravilla, Leontius, and Talia throw their arms around me and I can feel them shake with their cries. Ravilla wails, "But we don't _want_ a new tribute! We want you!"

I try to go around and rub all of their backs in comfort, "Guys, guys. It'll be all right. When you have your new tribute, you'll see that I'm not so great. You'll love having someone new. A new face to make up, new hair to wash and dry, a new body to poke and prod at."

They all draw back from me and Talia says, "But we won't even get to see your wedding!"

Ah. So that's what they're so sad about. What can I say to comfort them? Don't worry, the wedding was actually fake anyway? I have nothing to say that can really make them feel better, so I say nothing at all. They all take deep, composing breaths until there's a knock on the door, signaling Portia's entrance.

They all look at me sadly, then scurry off. Portia looks as they go, "What's that all about?"

I wave my hand, "They're just a little… emotional."

She nods, "Right, well, speaking of emotional." She shuts the door behind her and then leaps at me, throwing her arm around my waist and burying her head in my neck. My own arms band around her and she whispers, "I'm not going to cry. No tears from me. I think I've had months to cry myself dry." But as she speaks, I hear her voice get thick, and I feel her tears leak onto my shoulder through the robe I'm wearing.

Now I do feel tears myself, and I let them out. I have to do what I have to do, and keeping Katniss alive is all that has consumed me for months. I've felt and basically got over the fact that my family will have to go on without me, and I made my peace with them. But I didn't think of letting go of Portia.

She says, "I'm going to miss you."

Meaning it more than I've ever meant anything, I respond, "That goes twice for me."

After a few more moments, she pulls back and wipes at her eyes with a tissue, then reaches over and wipes mine. "There. We get that out of the way at the beginning so we don't ruin your make-up and make me unpresentable."

"You're never unpresentable," I tell her, and it's true. I've never seen her looking anything less than amazing.

She gives me her so-Portia wink, "That's what you think. Now, this isn't about how I look, it's about making you look as fabulous as possible."

So she gets to work on my face. Last year, I had a tiny bit of makeup on and it felt uncomfortable. This year, the makeup isn't there to accent my face and make me more defined on camera. It's there to tell a story. She cakes it on, giving me a much more angular look with bold colors, and we don't speak. I understand why – I don't like to talk to people when I paint, and this is her art. This is the time for her to concentrate.

When she puts down the final brush she was using on my face, she smiles widely, "This is fabulous. You look wonderful." But her smile dims and she looks down at the ground, saying quietly, "You're going to sacrifice yourself for her, aren't you?"

I don't say anything back for a minute, just holding her gaze, "You know I am."

She sighs heavily, deeply, "Yes, I know. I just wish you weren't so… noble."

I roll my eyes up at her, "I am _not_ noble. I wish people would stop saying stuff like that and looking at me like I'm doing something extraordinary. I'm doing what anyone else who was in love with someone would do."

Portia puts her hand on my cheek and says, "No, they wouldn't. In your world, your beautiful world that lives in your mind, that's just how things are. But here in real world, that just what everyone wishes was true. Now, in real world, love isn't the most important thing to everyone. If it were, my life would be a whole lot different." She mutters the last part, but I still catch it.

Before she can remove her hand from my cheek, I catch it in mine, "So what did end up happening between you and Cinna?"

"Well, it took me a while to get up the nerve – and then another few weeks before we were actually at the apartment at the same time. But last month, I told him that I had had enough of his sneaking around and not knowing what he was doing or where he was or who he was with. I told him that I wanted answers." She looks down, "He said that he couldn't give them to me." Tears spring into her eyes again, and I pull her into a hug again, urging her to continue, "So I told him that I couldn't be in a one-person relationship anymore. And that I had to move on."

She breaks off and I pull her in tighter, "And?"

She sniffles, "And he told me that he would have his things moved out of the apartment by morning. That was it." She completely breaks down, and starts talking to me fast, and I struggle to keep up between the speed of her words and the sobbing, but I manage to piece it together. "He didn't even care, Peeta. I was mad and hurt and crying and just so all over the place and emotional, and he didn't even care. He just stood there like a stone. Like I didn't even warrant an emotion from him. It was like my heart was shattered to pieces right in front of him, and he just walked away from it."

I tighten my arms around her and stroke my hand down her curly hair, and I have no words of comfort. I've felt that before, had that feeling like my heart had been cut out of me, and that hurt can't be eased away by any words. After what I think is five minutes, she pulls back, "Thank you. You are the best man I've ever known." And then her eyes water up again. "I love you so much."

I rub my hands up and down on her arms, "I love you, too. Cinna's a fool for giving you up." When she reaches over to the sink and takes more tissues, wiping at her face, which in turn removes most of her makeup, I say, "And I was right – you are stunning even now."

She reaches over and lightly hits my arm, "Shut up." Looking at herself in the mirror, she takes a deep breath, and say to me, "Now, strip."

"You didn't even buy me dinner first." I say to make her laugh, and it works as I pull off my robe.

As her laugh dies, she rolls her eyes at herself, "I'll have to live with looking like this for now." She turns to face me, her brow wrinkled in consternation, "You've filled out! Look at this chest." I can tell from the concentrated look on her face she's not giving me a compliment, but she's in her professional zone. She reaches for her measurement thingy and holds it up across my chest, then goes behind me, measuring my back as well. "I'm going to have to have to alter all of my notes for you, and your interview outfit, along with your Games outfit… don't worry I can have it all done in time. We're just lucky your chariot outfit is spandex, aren't we?"

Once she has me in the costume – a black jumpsuit with a black metal crown, I look at her, "Not that I think you don't know what you're doing – because I don't – but… I just don't understand this costume. It might be too artsy for me."

She gives me a wicked smile, "Just wait." And then she switches the lighting in the room and presses a button on my costume, and suddenly, I glow. I am on fire.

"It's incredible," I breathe out.

She fixes the lighting and then presses the button again and my suit goes out, "Yes. Cinna came up with the idea of you two being on fire, but I came up with the outfits and the switches inside your costumes. One of my more brilliant ideas, if I do say so myself."

I smile at her, "You are brilliant," I reassure.

She basically preens under the congratulations, and I wonder if maybe everyone has been giving so much credit to Cinna over his outfits for Katniss that Portia's own talent has been put into the background. Maybe this split up has been for the better in more ways than one, and she just hasn't seen it yet.

I think she has to have noticed the change in me, and she gives me a questioning look, "What?"

Choosing my words carefully, knowing that saying the wrong thing could result in more tears, I say, "Have you thought about maybe leaving the Hunger Games, now that you aren't … tied to them anymore? Maybe opening that shop?"

Her lips draw to the side, "I haven't, really. Maybe I should. But not now, because _now_ it's your turn to go out and shine."

I give her a look, "Don't you mean, go out there and be along for the ride?"

She looks me in the eye, serious business, and wiggles her finger in front of my face in a disciplinary move, "Uh, uh, uh. This time, you're on equal ground. This time, you will both be stunning and gorgeous. And _this time_… there will be no waving, no acknowledgement of them. No matter how much your adoring fans will scream your name and cry out to you and beg you to wave, you aren't to do so much as smile at them. Because this year, as you need to put into all of their minds, you are far too much into worrying about Katniss and yourself to worry about them and their needs. Okay? You are very above them all."

I'm amused by her acting somewhat like my mother – just way nicer – and I chuckle, "Okay."

She gives me a smart tap on the nose, "Hey! No smiling!"

I school my features into a serious look, "This might be hard for me."

We both end up laughing as we make our way out of the door, and we're immediately faced with Cinna. Portia immediately stops laughing and he looks at her, somewhat questioningly, "You're not wearing any makeup."

She links her arm around mine and she avoids making eye contact as she sniffs, "I'm going for something new. Where's Katniss?"

But he's looking at her intently, "We finished a while ago. She just went downstairs. I had to take care of some things up here, so I didn't join her."

Her arm tightens around mine, "Come on, Peeta, I'll walk you down. Sorry for taking you away from your business."

And then we start to walk away, but before we go, I make sure to get a good look at Cinna. And he watches as we leave, even turning around to watch us go. More specifically, to watch Portia go. That's not an action or a look a man gives a woman he doesn't love. But I don't say anything to her, because if I did, it would just dredge up more pain. I don't know what is up with Cinna, but whatever it is, it's not something he wants to share with Portia.

We get on the elevator and she looks at me, "Well, you're ready. And thank you. I promise, once we're downstairs, I won't cramp your style."

I laugh, "The only style I have is what you give me."

She laughs too, but then the elevator stops on the ground level and she cuts me off, "From here on in, no smiling or laughing. Serious face."

I mock her look, "Serious face."

Both fighting to keep from laughing, we step out in into the crowd. She gives my hand once last squeeze and them drops it, "I'm going to find the other stylists. I'll see you later. Good luck out there."

I wave at her, then look around at Katniss, confused when I see her talking to Finnick Odair. Just as the mention of his name in my mind, I jump to my in-head notebook filled with details about him. Age twenty-four, from District Four, won the Games ten years ago, adept with many weapons, including knives and spears, but he's absolutely ferocious with a trident. But he's charming, I can see that from here, that any woman in the Capitol would go crazy for him. I saw it on his tape – he received more gifts and sponsors than anyone I had seen in all of the other fifty-nine tapes. I wonder if Katniss finds him attractive. And I also call myself ridiculous for being jealous, even a little bit, of him.

We make eye contact as I start walking toward them, and he saunters away just as I reach her, and I can't help my suspicion as I ask, "What did Finnick Odair want?"

My eyes widen as she comes in close to me, lowers her eyelids and whispers in seduction, "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets."

And just like that, she cracks me up. It was actually a pretty good imitation, but it was just so ridiculous, "Ugh. Not really."

She confirms, "Really. I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

When I can see that she means it, I can't help but feel relieved, even though I know it's dumb. Being jealous of Finnick Odair. I don't say anything back, just look around and take in everyone for the first time. They're all in their strange costumes – Katniss and I are the very few who are fortunate enough to have people like Cinna and Portia as our stylists – and are acting… just bizarre. It's the way they are now, after having been living this life for so long. "Do you think we'd have ended up like this is only one of us had won? Just another part of the freak show?" Because that's exactly what it is. We all get dressed up and present ourselves for these people, spectators who pay to look in and have a look at the goods. Have a look at all of us who have been through what only fifty-nine others have been through in the entire nation.

Her voice is easy and her responds quick as she says, "Sure. Especially you."

Thinking she's joking and that there's a quip coming, I play into it with a grin, loving how easy it is between us now, "Oh. And why especially me?"

I know her joking tone when I hear it and when she says, "Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't. they would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely." She's joking.

But my smile fades away, because I don't take it as a joke. She's saying it laughingly, but there's a harsh truth under her words. "Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness." Then again, here I am, days away from willingly giving up my life for a girl who's beautiful on the inside and out. "Except when it comes to you." The words slip out before I can stop them, and neither of us says anything for a minute, until the first chariot gets towed out, and I think it's about time we get up, ready to go. I offer her my hand to help her up, "Shall we?"

She takes my hand wordlessly, but, being Katniss, she also pulls me up beside her, rather than letting me hop up on my own, like any other girl I know. It's things like that that set her so completely apart from anyone else. Then she says to me, "Hold still." And I feel her fingers in my hair, adjusting my crown, and she smiles at me, "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be fabulous again."

It's automatic for me to think, _you're always fabulous_, but it's statements like that that used to make her uncomfortable and they aren't something that this Career Peeta has been saying for the past few months, so I respond with, "Absolutely." And I go on to repeat what Portia said about being above it all. Speaking of Portia, I don't see her here, anywhere, or Cinna. I wonder if Katniss knows anything, "Where are they, anyway?"

She keeps a speculative eye on everyone in front of us, noting that we're going to be pulling out soon, as District Eight's chariots are being pulled out. "I don't know. Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." She suggests.

So we do, and as people start to look at us, I want to follow Portia's advice and just look like I'm unaffected by them, but I'm more concerned with finding her. I know she's down here, she came with me. And last year, they were both with us, right until we left the area. Katniss starts looking around, too, and asks, "Are we supposed to hold hands this year?"

I'm dissatisfied that they aren't anywhere to be seen, but I have to stop looking because it's almost time for us to go, and I have to be cool. So I look over at her and say, "I guess they've left it up to us."

I stare into her gray eyes, which aren't hard now, but soft, like liquid steel as they look into mine, and I really want to hold her hand through this. I shift my hand into the center of the seat as an offering. Not pressuring her to take it, nor closing myself off. Within moments, her warm hand is in mine and our fingers intertwine. It's this feeling, knowing she's here with me in this, that prepares me for the screaming mob known as the Capitol, not our costumes, as wonderful as they may be.

Then we're going. And it's just like last year – the crowd going wild, all the other districts' costumes falling so far short of ours it's ridiculous, and, if I were allowed to look at Katniss, I would be mesmerized by her. But it's also completely different – neither of us are playing this attention up, her hand isn't like a vice grip on mine, and our costumes aren't playing us up to be bright and beautiful. We are dark and stunning.

No one can look away from us. And by the time we stop and President Snow is speaking, I can't look away from the sight of Katniss up on the large screen. I'm still not allowed to show emotion or look over at her, so I make the best of the screen and to keep my face deadly serious. But it's sitting here, watching her like this, so completely _vital_, that makes me know I'm doing the right thing.

It's not until we're back behind the closed doors of the Training Center than I feel her muscles relax and she sinks into the seat, and I allow myself to look at her, just one look where I let myself have deep down thinks thoughts about how beautiful she is, about how I wish I could do one last painting in my life, and it would be of her, like this. But then I make myself pull back, and I look away from her, and see Portia.

I hop down from the chariot and offer my hand to Katniss, helping her down, as Haymitch makes his way over with Chaff, and the woman from his district, Seeder. I shake his hand – the right one, as it's the only one he has – when they get to us, while Seeder and Katniss embrace as though they've known each other for years.

Chaff draws my attention from them while he jokes, "I can see that you're a righty. Luckily I didn't lose my other arm, or you'd have to shake with your left."

Ah. Limb detachment jokes. I laugh and say, "I guess so."

He looks at Haymitch, "This one isn't as uncomfortable as they usually are when I say that."

I respond by lifting my artificial leg up, "I just guess it's a good thing I don't have to be a lefty or righty with my legs, otherwise I'm be at a disadvantage."

He barks out a loud laugh and slaps me on the shoulder, then goes in for Katniss, wrapping an arm around her, then giving her a big, sloppy kiss smack on the lips. When he draws away she looks so incredibly uncomfortable and disgusted, both Chaff and Haymitch laugh, and even I find myself wanting to smile. Her hand tightens on mine, and I make sure not to show my amusement.

Then we're being jostled over to the elevators by the Capitol attendants. They're not looking happy with the way all of us victor tributes are hanging out together, and I'm sure President Snow has given them some sort of orders to make us all stay away from each other. It's not until our elevator shuts that I realize we're in here with someone else, not just Seeder and Chaff.

Johanna Mason. District Seven, age twenty-one, extremely lethal. Our amiable competitors from Eleven are in conversation with each other now, and Johanna engages Katniss in girl talk. I listen to them, and as Katniss gets irritated with her, I note the sheer amusement in Johanna's eyes. Then she strips, which everyone in here can tell she's only doing to make Katniss more uncomfortable, except for Katniss.

I think of this moment, then Chaff, and even Finnick, though I didn't think of his before now. It's all because everyone knows she is just so innocent. Despite her being a very real threat, being dangerous, she is still so incredibly pure. Something I realized last year in the arena, when she was too embarrassed to strip me down. She's so easy to make feel embarrassed, that people just can't help but try to provoke it in her. Honestly, I can't blame them. The complexities of her are just something more to love, and to love them, you have to explore them. It's what they're all doing.

After she stares down Katniss she looks up at me, "So, Romeo, your paintings."

"What about them?" I ask, grinning in camaraderie with her.

She shrugs, "They're good. I watched on the Victory Tour when they were displayed. You have a nice talent going on there. I had to dance for mine. Gag me with a spoon." The elevator stops and lets her out and she waves back at me, "Bye."

I wave, too, still smiling when we stop on eleven and let our Seeder and Chaff. Katniss lets go of my hand immediately after we're alone and I just start laughing at the situation. She's upset now, when she doesn't realize everything people do around her is because of how truly "above it all" she really is. All of these things that everyone else doesn't care about are things she is hyper-aware of. It's that innocence, and people are just drawn to it. To her. And she just doesn't even see it.

As the elevator door opens to let us out, I'm still laughing and she spins to look at me as soon as we step out, crossing her arms, and asking me, "What?"

Unable to keep it a secret, I tell her, "It's you, Katniss. Can't you see?"

But she obviously can't, because she asks, "What's me?"

"Why they're all acting like this." I explain the others' behavior toward her, and when I'm done, I can see she just thinks I'm still laughing at her, so I try to be serious as I finish, "They're playing with you because you're so… you know." She has to know.

"No," she says to me, "I don't know."

And since she does seem so genuinely baffled, I explain to her, about how she is so pure. Which just appears to anger her farther, as she exclaims, "I am not! I've been practically ripping your clothes off every time there's a camera for the last year!"

"Yeah, but…" I trail off, and I know she just wouldn't understand me trying to explain the difference of how she _acts_ and how she inherently _is_. Not when she's this worked up about it. So I just go for an easy route, "I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure. For me, you're perfect." And it's true – these facets of her just make me even more amazed by her. But that doesn't make her seem any less angry, either, so I add on, "They're just teasing you."

Almost pouting at me, she turns away and turns up her nose, "No, they're laughing at me, and so are you!"

"No," I say. That's just not the way it is. But seeing her like this just makes me want to smile again, but I fight to keep it in, looking away from her and at Effie and Haymitch as they come off the elevator. Haymitch looks deadly serious as he looks beyond us, and my amusement completely dies off as I look where he is and see what he sees.

We have a new Avox. And it's Darius.

* * *

**Ohhh snap. Poor Darius. Also, yay for Johanna's appearance! I love Johanna...**


	17. Remember

He was our old Peacekeeper, back in District Twelve. He was the one who tried to protect Gale at the whipping. The one who Thread hit on the head with the whip, who was bleeding on the ground. And having his tongue cut out from his head, becoming a slave for the Capitol, that was his punishment for sticking up for what was right and trying to save a life.

I remember the few times I'd seen him around the district, and we would wave or occasionally say hello. But he and Katniss _knew_ each other. I can tell by the way they're holding eye contact. If I feel poleaxed by this, I can't even imagine how she's feeling. But it's all too much for her, and she runs away, slamming the door to her bedroom.

Nodding my head in the direction of my room, I go and change, my mind whirling as I feel sick. I didn't know him. We never spoke anything beyond a small "hello" but I feel responsible. If I had made it to the town square earlier that day, before he tried to stop Thread from whipping Gale any father, this never would have happened for him.

I change out of this costume and into dress pants and a button up shirt, still almost vomiting from the guilt I have, churning my stomach. When Haymitch knocks on my door, I know it's time for dinner. But I don't want to go and eat, having him serve me. All I want to do is be normal, comforting Peeta and go in to see how Katniss is feeling.

When Haymitch knocks again, telling me to get my ass out there, I open the door, "Sorry, I was changing."

He looks at me like he knows I'm lying, but doesn't say that. Quietly, he leans in, saying, "You listen, boy. Don't say anything to Darius and don't go talking to Katniss about him, either. It's best _for him_ if you pretend he's not even there. I mean it."

I know he's telling the honest truth. It wouldn't be beneficial for Darius at all if any of us gave him any attention we would normally give anyone else. It would just be an excuse for him to be punished even more. That's why Snow put him here with us. So I nod, "I won't. I mean, I won't talk to him. I swear."

He seems satisfied, and then leads me down to the dining room. Haymitch takes a seat at the head of the table, the other head spot being left for Effie, while Portia and Cinna sit diagonally across from each other. Last year, they always sat next to one another, and if they couldn't, then directly across. But now… I take the seat next to her.

She immediately takes my hand in hers and squeezes, and I wonder what's happened since we last talked. But she doesn't say a word until Effie and Katniss come back, and Effie strikes up a conversation about the opening ceremonies, and Cinna dives right into it, with Haymitch making several snarky comments.

Portia scoots her chair closer to me and whispers, "I just want to know how you do it."

Confused, I ask, "How I do what?"

"How you're able to be close to Katniss without feeling like your heart is going to burst. This one night with Cinna, the first in a month, feels like it's going to kill me." Her eyes plead with me, begging for help that I don't know how to give.

"But you guys worked together for the past month, haven't you?" I ask, trying to think of something I can say to make it better for her.

She shrugs, "Not really. By the time I broke it off, we already had all of your outfits planned, and had already gotten out separate material… we've basically just worked alone on you and Katniss' outfits. And this one night we've spent any time together is just so awkward and lonely and I hate it. How did you do it, when you and Katniss had to hug and kiss and hold hands?"

I remember back to the beginning of the Tour, when we weren't even on speaking terms yet, and I answer as honestly as I can, "It hurts. It hurts like nothing you've ever felt before. But I didn't talk to Katniss for almost six whole months before that. I did a lot of reconciling with the way we were… and like it or not, you two are going to have to talk to each other, if you want to be anything close to normal again."

She looks down, "It's hard. But you're right. You are absolutely right. Someday, I will be able to talk to him about this." She sends him a look across the table and sighs, "But not today."

I squeeze her hand, "Take the time you need." Then I take a few bites of dinner.

She rubs her hand down my arm, "Thank you. I know I've been dark and moody and emotional lately, and I'm sorry."

I put my fork down and look at her, "Don't be. I've been where you are, and you're handling everything exceptionally well. You can talk to me about anything, whatever your mood is. Take advantage of my knowledge while you can."

She gives me a sad smile and a nod, before we both tuck into our dinners, occasionally adding into the conversation about this district or that ones' outfits. The same thing happens as we watch the recaps of the opening ceremonies. The majority of the tributes have their costumes wear them, rather than actually wearing their costumes. It's sad, and makes me remarkably unhappy.

I watch everyone's faces as they nod at the people or wave at them or, like Finnick, wink and blow kisses at them. These people all thought the worst was over. All of the weathered faces, all of the tired waves or vacant stares. Katniss and myself included. We were all tricked by the Capitol into believing we were done, that we had all gone through the worst experience in our lives and, even though it was because of them, they would now reward us for the rest of our lives.

But that was all a lie. Because we _never_ stop being a pawn in their stupid Games, for as long as we will live. Even after beating their odds, they can still pull us back in and use us as their puppets again.

I can barely sit and watch for this whole thing, just feeling disgusting. Unbelieving in one part of my mind that this is how I really ended up. When the chips are all out and I'll be down for the count, people will only ever remember me as a tribute in the Hunger Games.

As soon as the ceremony recap is over, Katniss stands up, saying quickly, "Cinna, thank you so much for the wonderful costume. You, too, Portia."

And then she walks away, out of the room by the time Effie can call to her, "Make sure to meet early for breakfast, to work on training strategy!"

Haymitch also leaves, saying he's going to find some alcohol. Effie, lacking her usual verve, also excuses herself in favor of going to bed. I'm left with the two stylists, Cinna now alone on the couch, and Portia sitting on the arm of my chair. Cinna is still giving her that intense look, and I would say he wants to have a real talk with her now. Apparently, she knows this, too, because she stands and grips my arm, "Walk me to my room, Peeta?"

Though she phrases it like a question, it's a command. I get up, "Of course." Nodding at Cinna, I say, "Goodnight. And thank you, like Katniss said, for the costume."

He nods back, "Yep. See you tomorrow. You too, Portia."

She "hmm"s back at him, "Goodnight."

When we're out of his earshot I say, "He wants to talk to you. It could be… beneficial to listen."

She sighs and leans back against her door, "I know. Just not tonight. I will. We need to, I know it. Things just suck."

I let out a quiet laugh, "Yeah. I understand that feeling." I lean over and open the bedroom door, and she steps in. With a small smile, I say, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." And then she shuts the door.

Making my way to the hallway with my and Katniss' rooms off of it, I can't bring myself to go right into my own room. Career-training Peeta argues with me as I stand outside of Katniss' door, telling me not to do anything, to just go to bed. But I can't. All I see in my head is her face, the devastation, as she saw Darius tonight. Her upset at me for, as she thinks, laughing at her just makes me feel worse, and I go with what my instincts tell me to do for the first time in months, knocking on her door.

I know that if she wants me to come in, to be there for her tonight, she'll say something to me or get up and let me in. So I wait for a few minutes and knock again, but she doesn't do anything. I guess she doesn't need me tonight, even though I want her to.

So I go into my own room and change into pajamas. I guess the chariot ride and the opening ceremonies really did wipe me out, because within moments of falling into bed, I'm asleep. I dream of last year's arena, but in my dream it's the arena of the Quarter Quell. All the new tributes are there, Johanna's face is on a tree hanging over me, while Finnick dances on a branch of the same tree with a trident in his hands. They scream at me about how I couldn't save Katniss, laughing and taunting, and then I'm yanked off my feet, strings wrapped around both my arms, and I look up, seeing President Snow's face smiling maliciously down at me.

I wake up drenched in sweat, and light streams in through my window. Trying to shake his evil look from my mind, I shower and change into my training clothes. Before I head down to the dining room, I can't resist opening Katniss' door slightly, just to reassure me that she's in there, breathing, still alive. Not completely untouched from the evils of this world, but still repairable.

Then I shut the door and go to the dining room, walking in on Effie and Haymitch fighting. Effie is yelling, "You _said_ you would wear one!"

He growls at her, "Yeah, and I also had no liquor in me at that time. Didn't that tip you off that something was wrong?"

Walking closer, I can see that she has laid out several bracelets for him to choose from, all that reflect an "on fire" theme. They still haven't noticed me yet, and Effie is still mad, saying, "Don't you want us all to present as a team? A unit?"

I speak up, "You did say you'd wear on, Haymitch. And you did want us to appear as a team."

He snarls at me, "Shut up."

Effie smiles at me, "These aren't just all bracelets, Peeta, but also ankle bands. You should choose one for yourself."

Walking closer, it only takes me moments to choose an ankle band that is gold, and shaped as flames all around. It's the least flashy and obtrusive. "I'll take this one." I look over at the bracelets that Effie wants Haymitch to choose from and see basically the same selection as there was for anklets. I pick the one that matches mine and hand it to him, "Take it. Wear it." And then I flutter my eyelashes at him and raise my voice to a higher pitch, "We can match."

Effie looks pleased and she helps him snap it onto his wrist, then busies herself cleaning up the others. "Thank you, Peeta. I am going to go and speak to the District Nine escort. I will be seeing you later." Then she gives Haymitch a dark look, "Both of you."

Haymitch is looking down at his wrist in disgust, which makes me want to laugh. He catches me though, "Not a word from you, boy. Not one word. Unless it's about training strategy."

I shrug, "I figure Katniss and I will just try some stations that we didn't try last year, maybe some –"

He cuts me off, "No. You have one mission for training, and it's not about learning. It's something you didn't do last year." Before I can voice my confusion, he continues, "Allies. Make them."

Immediately, I'm against it. "No. I'm not willing to join up with anyone else. That means willingly putting Katniss in close proximity to others. While we're vulnerable, too. Sleeping, not on guard. You can't ask me to do that, Haymitch."

He shakes his head, "I'm not asking you, boy. I'm telling you. You're thinking about it all wrong. Allies won't hurt your chances of keeping Katniss safe – they'll benefit you. Right now, you two are already the odd ones out. Everyone else has already been together, mentoring, being friends, for years. Even Johanna has friends down there that she's loyal to, and she's only been around for four years. You and the girl will be first on their lists to destroy – not only are you young and strong, but you're the new guys."

I consider what he's saying and it does make sense… "But how?" The only allies I saw pre-Games last year were the Careers, and they all just automatically team up at the beginning of every Games.

He gives me a knowledgeable look, "Boy, people like you. separate from the girl for a bit, and you both set out to find good allies. You're both crowd favorites – others won't be completely against having you. But it's up to you to show that you're open to joining up with them." I nod, taking in his words, thinking of who I could scout out as an ally when he looks around, "Speaking of the girl. Where is she?"

I shrug even though I know she was still in bed just a little bit ago when I came down. Haymitch scowls, "I told her to be here early this morning. Now she already missed my talk about allies and I'm going to have to convince her, too."

He keeps grumbling, and eventually, Katniss makes her appearance. And Haymitch was right. He does have to convince her to accept allies, using the same arguments he used with me. By the time we've all finished eating, Effie arrives to take us down, but Haymitch shakes his head, "No way. These two may have needed you as a babysitter last year, but not again. This year, they're the babies of the competition, and no other victors will be showing up with a babysitter. They need to look reliant on themselves."

Effie huffs, but understands his point, "Fine." So she walks us to the elevator, and reaches out to flatten out my hair, and flips Katniss' braid over her shoulder, before pressing the button. "There. Much better. Have a good day training!"

As we wave at her while the elevator doors shut, I think about how this is like what it was to be dropped off at the first day of kindergarten. And I feel a rush of affection to Effie, for caring so much about us, when there are other escorts who I've seen that don't give a crap about their tributes.

Atala, the woman who does training, looks the same as always while she lectures those of us who have arrived for training. I look around, noting that only about ten others have showed up. Brutus and Enobaria. Gloss and Cashmere. Finnick and Mags. Chaff and Seeder. The two from Six, Ami and Kaver, who I have learned since being here are morphling addicts. I found this out because everyone, oh-so-cleverly, refers to them as the morphlings from Six.

After Atala finishes, a half hour later, more people stumble in. Johanna Mason, who noticeably distances herself from her district partner, Blight, then there's the two from Five, Leon and Agatha. We split up and I make my way over to Chaff, who Haymitch suggested as an ally. Out of everyone here, I guess that even though Chaff is older and has turned to alcohol in the past however many years, I trust him the most. Because he's almost exactly like Haymitch.

Brutus is also at the station, and he shows both Chaff and I up as he throws spears like a professional. Then I recall from his tape that the spear is his specialty weapon. Chaff, with his only arm, manages to throw decently, and I throw a bit better than he does. Brutus eyes my spear, which is sticking out from the target about a foot away from his, "Not bad."

"Thanks." But when I meet his eyes, I can see that he's just not having this whole nice conversation. Trying to think back to last year, I wonder if he was Cato's mentor or something… because Cato nearly killed me and I tried to defend myself with a spear. And I was there when he died, helping Katniss.

He walks away and Chaff seems to have read my mind, "He trained Cato for years. Bragged about how he was going to win for a long time. Old family friend."

Okay. Brutus is completely off any ally list I might have in mind. "Guess that means he's out for an ally."

He barks out a laugh, "Well, kid, you got one from me. One arm, that is."

It's a bad joke, but it makes me laugh. He continues making jokes like that, as we take turns throwing spears. Neither of us show particular achievement in this area, so he says, "Why don't you go on and try to find some other allies. Possibly some with all their limbs intact."

I agree, and look around at all of the others. Finnick would be a strong ally, and he doesn't seem to be aligning himself with Brutus, Enobaria, Gloss, and Cashmere. I might try for him later. Kaver and Ami "the morphlings" as everyone calls them, are at my favorite station – the camouflage – but I don't think Haymitch would be particularly keen on me teaming up with them, especially when they're older and completely indulgent in their addictions.

Leon from Five isn't proving himself to be a good choice, either, as he tosses his cookies all over the sword fighting station. No one from Nine or Ten has shown up yet, and I see the ones from Eight, Cecelia and Woof, at knife throwing. I make my way over to them. "Morning!" I greet.

Cecelia greets me back, and I feel that Woof would have, if he was in his right mind. But all he does is mumble to himself and hold one knife in his hand, turning it around and around. Cecelia and I both throw together. After training at this for the past few months, I'm fairly decent. She's not too bad, either, and we chit chat a bit. I want to ally myself with her, and I think she's a really nice lady, but I can't do it.

Because all I see in my mind's eye when I look at her is the faces of those three little kids. Her kids who clung onto her, and who are back home, crying for her right now, probably. I'm going to do anything I can to send Katniss home, but I don't think I could take becoming close to her, being with her in the arena, then watching her die. Not with the pictures of her kids in my head.

After a bit, lunch is announced. I walk with Cecelia over to the dining area, Woof following behind, and we meet up with Chaff, who brings over Finnick and Mags. Following Finnick comes Johanna, and Seeder comes over too, bringing Agatha from Five. Finnick claps his hands together and starts moving together two tables, smirking, "Look at us, being the popular kids."

Nine and Ten never showed up at all today, and the guy from Five went back upstairs to recuperate from his 'illness'. The morphlings are already sitting off to the side together, as are Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, and Enobaria. I look around for Katniss and don't see her already in here.

Johanna's voice interrupts my thoughts, "Looking for your girlfriend? She's over there with Nuts and Volts." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

"Nuts and Volts?" I ask, and follow where she's pointing. Katniss is standing with the people from Three, and then there's Finnick behind me, saying, "Ol' Nuts and Volts. Getting their social on. Adorable."

"I'll be right back," I say to them, then go to Katniss, asking, "How's it going?"

She tells me that she likes Nuts and Volts, and is very defensive over them. So I can already tell we might be ending up with "Ol' Nuts and Volts" with us in the arena. Maybe that's not a bad thing. They were both intelligent in the tapes from their Games, and they won't be that difficult to take down…

The rest of training goes about the same. Katniss seems intent on becoming allies with Nuts and Volts, so I get to know them better. I also spot her chatting it up and having an all right time with Mags, so I adjust my training schedule to also train with Finnick. I come to quite like him, and he's an excellent competitor. He would make a good ally, especially in the beginning, like the bloodbath. I even chat with Johanna, though she doesn't seem too intent on saying anything nice about Katniss. If I overlook that, she could also be a good ally.

But at the same time, Finnick has this… thing about him that makes me think he's trustworthy. That he's a good guy. Johanna has an unsettling quality to her. Maybe it's because I remember watching her Hunger Games, I remember being suckered in as an audience member, feeling bad for her and rooting for her as an underdog tribute, then being completely surprised and, somewhat frightened, as she went on her killing spree.

I wonder if anyone has actually suggested that they want to be our allies to their mentors, thinking maybe that while I've been just assuming who Katniss and I want will want us, too. But Katniss fixes that on the second to last day of training, before we go in front of the Gamemakers, and shows off her archery skills. Which are so impressive that if anyone here _doesn't_ say they want to be her ally, I will think they are absolutely insane.

I get to know most every tribute over the next few days. Even the Careers, who spent time with Katniss and myself after seeing that she had some real serious skills going on. And every night, I'm not just haunted by Katniss' death, but it grows to be everyone. Anxiety and sadness grip me every day after training, when I think about how if Katniss is to win, Chaff will have to die. So will Cecelia. And Seeder. Finnick, Johanna, poor old Mags. Even Kaver and Ami, who I've gotten to know a little bit when we've all been at the camouflage station.

I just try to block it out. Because I can't think like that in the arena. No doubts. No niceness shining through. No facets of my real personality shining through, except for the fact that I need to protect Katniss. Katniss seems to agree with me on this front, as we discuss it while we wait for our turn with the Gamemakers. We come to an agreement that, though we've gotten to know them and like them, we can't ally with them.

Between worrying about what I'm going to do about the fates of all these people I've come to care about and wondering what I'm going to do in front of the Gamemakers, by the time my time comes to go in front of them, I'm still scratching my head. Haymitch told me this morning to do something new. Which means I can't lift things and throw them. I don't think I should do any camouflage, either, because even though I'm good at it, they already know I can do it, because of the Games from last year when I camouflaged myself into mud.

I'm thinking about camouflage when Katniss mentions that she can't handle killing any of these people, especially after last year when she had to see Rue die. Rue. Just a little girl, and I picture her from the recap I saw at the end of our Games, watching as her little body stopped moving and I whisper, "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?"

She answers, but I don't hear it because the wheels in my head are turning. By the time they call my name, I know what I'm going to do in front of the Gamemakers. I walk right into the room. Last year, I looked at them nervously, seeing how drunk they were and having it annoy me. This year, I don't spare them a look, but I'm already irritated with them. Just them working as Gamemakers makes them detestable.

I march right over to all the camouflage paints and I'm impressed with how little Kaver and Ami used, and how neat they kept it. I wonder if they did it with me in mind, and if they did, I thank them silently. With the picture of Rue, after she died, when Katniss really gave the Capitol a huge eff-you, by covering Rue in flowers rather than just leaving her body, fresh in my mind, I get to work.

Pulling all of the paints down by me on the floor, I pick a spot right in the center of the ground. Right where they won't be able to ignore it, even if they want to. Right in front of them. Working as quickly as I can, I'm only halfway done when a little buzzing sound goes off. I guess that's the fifteen minute mark, but I'm not leaving until I'm done with this picture, and they don't try to make me. I think they're all wondering what I'm doing.

I think it takes me another twenty minutes before it's complete. Before I have recreated the scene of Rue's death, the scene reminding these people that they helped murder a blameless twelve-year-old girl a year ago. I stand up, wiping my hands, which are blood red due to the paint, on the ground all around my painting. Like blood smattered around the body. It couldn't be more perfect if I tried.

Stepping to the side, I know that the look on my face is defiant as they all get a look at my work. Several of them stand up to get a good look at it, then gasp. Someone shrieks. A man sitting to the left of Plutarch Hwavensbee shouts, "That's enough. Get out!"

Take that, you jerks. I stand my ground, and they have a uniformed Peacekeeper come out from the back corner of the room to escort me out. I know they won't hurt me. They can't – it's against the rules. And they can be pissed off at me all they want; why not? I am at them. While the Peacekeeper starts dragging me from the room, and I think_ I'm not a pawn in your Games, and now you'll remember that. You'll remember this little girl. You'll remember the killing of innocence._

The door shuts behind me just as I finish my sentence and the Peackeeper throws me in the direction of the elevator, "Get out of here!"

Gladly.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**

**Also, I've gotten some questions as to whether or not I will write Mockingjay after this. The answer: definitely. To be truthful, the only reason I even wrote this one was so I could write MJ after.**


	18. One Perfect Day and A Mockingjay

I get off the elevators, hands still wet with several of the stains and paints I used. No one is around, not Haymitch, Portia, Cinna, or even Effie. I'm not exactly sure if I'm relieved or disappointed about that. I mean, I'm going to end up telling them what I did anyway, and I know it.

Seeing as how it doesn't seem anyone is coming in any time soon, I just go to my room to get ready for dinner. I'll tell everyone what happened then. While I stand under the spray, trying to scrub the paint off my hands, I think about just what exactly I've done. It made me feel better; it made me feel satisfied to know that they were reminded of just how terrible they really are. But… in the long run, what did it help?

What if, by giving them a lesson in humanity, I just singlehandedly made it them that much angrier? Angry enough to… say, send out some special "fun" in the arena, out for my blood. Which means that they could get Katniss by mistake or, knowing how much I care about her, target her instead. Now guilt wiggles into my self-satisfaction, along with a niggling of worry.

Just as I accept that my hands are now stained from painting the picture, I try to swallow the bad feelings I'm having, telling myself that what's done is done. There is no going back now and… well, even with the bad things, I think I'd still do it again given the same opportunity. I change into dinner clothes and go down to the dining room, and it appears that I'm right on time, as everyone else has arrived just as I do.

While we sit down, Haymitch doesn't even wait for the food to be served as he asks, "All right, so how did your private sessions go?"

I think maybe it would be better if Katniss went first. Looking over at her, I try to urge her wordlessly to start. I'd rather have her go first and get the positive reinforcement rather than the backlash of their probably disappointment or anger at me. But she tells me, "You first. It must have been really special. I had to wait for forty minutes to go in."

All right then. If she wants me to take the plunge before she does, I will. I look over and see Haymitch already glowering, and he doesn't know anything yet. Suddenly, I feel like a little boy who ripped a whole bag of flour open on the floor, and now I have to own up to it to my family. "Well, I – I did the camouflage thing, like you suggested, Katniss." Only different than you probably had in mind. Way different. "Not exactly camouflage. I mean, I used the dyes."

My hands are still stained to prove it. Portia's hands find mine beneath the table and I know she sees the stains even after I've showered. She's suspicious – because no one at this table knows me like Portia knows me – as she asks, "To do what?"

I don't know exactly how to explain it, and while I'm searching for the right words in my mind, whatever they are, Katniss gives me the opening by asking, "You painted something, didn't you? A picture."

For some reason, the excitement I hear in her voice gives me hope, and I think that out of everyone here _she_ will understand. She won't be angry or disappointed or anything. I think she'll be proud. And for that reason, I'm now encouraged to keep going, and I really want to know if she saw it. After all, I'm pretty sure if those dyes aren't coming off my hands, they weren't coming off that floor any time soon, "Did you see it?"

She shakes her head, "No. But they made a real point of covering it up."

Before I can say anything farther, Effie starts in on her idea that I had painted a picture of Katniss. I didn't, obviously, but I don't find the idea as ludicrous as Katniss herself does. Giving them a picture of Katniss would still have been a wake-up call for them, showing them that their Games still won't change me, Rue was better. After Effie finishes on her little spiel about how everyone here in the Capitol is onto my plan about protecting Katniss, before anyone can get farther of track, I clear my throat, saying, "Actually, I painted a picture of Rue. How she looked after Katniss had covered her in flowers."

Everyone is quiet. Portia's hand that is still holding onto mine squeezes tightly, and Haymitch is now full-out glaring at me. Effie buries her head in her hands, as Haymitch asks me, "And what exactly were you trying to accomplish?" There is latent anger in his voice.

And now, after it's out, I feel _better_. I'm glad they all know, and I don't regret it quite so much. so I answer honestly, "I'm not sure." I don't know how exactly I wanted those people to respond, but I do know, "I just wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment. For killing that little girl." To show them that they are, in fact, monstrous.

Effie wails about how I've gone and done the forbidden. Haymitch agrees with her, for once they're together on something, and it's agreeing that I've done the wrong thing. But the more they all tell me it was a bad thing to do, a bad idea, the more I think it was absolutely _right_. And I can tell Katniss agrees with me. Her approval and agreement makes everything just that much better.

Then she opens her mouth, "I guess this is a bad time to mention that I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it."

Holy. Crap. If I thought I had guts, if I thought I had bravery, sitting here with this amazing girl, I know that I can't even compare. She is utterly thrilling. As everyone else falls into a scary silence, I just look at her. Stunned, in the best way possible. As she and Effie talk, and Effie gets up and leaves, it occurs to me.

"You'd have thought we planned it." I say, and I can't help but give Katniss the tiniest smile that wants to creep up on my face. We work as a team, a well-oiled machine, even when we don't know it. It's just like we tag-teamed and gave the Gamemakers a double kick in the face.

Portia drops my hand now and rubs at her eyes, like I know she does when she's getting a headache, "Didn't you?" Her voice is strained as she asks. If anything, I feel bad for Portia. My friend, my best friend, who is already preparing to watch me die.

Katniss answers her, and I would like to comfort her, but I can't. Because I'm just so content now, with what we've done, and the way she's looking at me. The way she looks at me gives me the courage to add on, "And, Haymitch? We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena."

Not only can we not handle killing these other people here, but I think we just proved that we can work together fairly well, and that's without any communication. We fall into silence then, and eat. Several times over the course of the meal, I make eye contact with Katniss and we both smile.

When we go to watch the showing of the scores on the television, Portia puts her hand on mine and leads me in. While we walk, I say, "I'm not sorry for what I did, Portia. But I am sorry that it upsets you."

Her hand squeezes mine and she gives me a smile, "Peeta, I'm not upset at you. I'm just… worried. I know my extremely tough and beautiful veneer doesn't give it away – but I worry a lot. All of the time. And this just… makes me worry even more."

We gather around the television, no one actually sitting down to watch like last night. Just standing. Portia has a grip on my hand, Haymitch and Effie then stand next to each other, and on the other side, across from us, is Cinna and Katniss. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, whispering, "Is it possible to get a zero?"

She shrugs, "I've never seen it, but who knows? I'll be here for you, okay?"

I make a mental note of all of their scores, though I know I won't both to do something like write them down in my notebook.

Gloss: 8  
Cashmere: 8  
Brutus: 9  
Enobaria: 10  
Beetee: 6  
Wiress: 4  
Finnick: 10  
Mags: 4  
Leon: 2  
Agatha: 5  
Kaver: 4  
Ami: 5  
Blight: 6  
Johanna: 7  
Woof: 1  
Cecelia: 5  
Duke: 3  
Jacy: 2  
Benton: 2  
Chrissy: 3  
Chaff: 6  
Seeder: 6

My stomach twists in apprehension at what's coming next. My name flashes, and I kind of want to close my eyes, but I can't, and then I'm just about blown over by shock when a 12 appears. That's the highest score given in the history of the Games. I wait to see, dreading what Katniss will get… then her name flashes and her score mimics mine.

Katniss asks, "Why did they do that?"

Why _did_ they give us the highest scores in all the seventy-five years? But the answer comes to me so quickly I give myself chills. I think of what Johanna Mason did during her Games: she purposefully got herself a score of 3. No one targeted her. The Gamemakers know that by giving us both twelves, we will be the biggest target of all.

Haymitch speaks the words on my mind, and then orders us to bed. We go in silence, and all I can wonder about it if I really did make things worse. I think maybe this guilt I'm having is unwarranted. Because, though it didn't really occur to me before, this whole Quell idea could be because of us. Snow _knew_ that Katniss would have to go into the Games, as the only living female victor in District Twelve. He knew I would go in with her.

We failed at preventing a rebellion. And this is the punishment. He wants us dead, and regardless of how nice and good we acted in front of the Gamemakers, or anyone here, dead we will end up. When we stop walking, Katniss looks at me, then wraps her arms around me. For a minute, the Peeta I've been thinking as since we've been training tells me to stop. But I throw him to the side, because I've done the best I can as far as preparation goes. Now I want to be there for her, to comfort her as much as she wants and needs, for both of us.

So I give in and wrap my arms around her as well, and rest my cheek against this waterfall of dark hair, inhaling it's scent as she says, "I'm sorry if I made things worse."

Not moving from where I stand, happy to be wrapped up in her, I say back quietly, "No worse than I did." Then again, I know why I did it. But why did she? I ask her as much.

She answers, "I don't know. To show them that I'm more than just a piece in their Games?"

My arms still wrapped around her, I laugh. I can't stop myself from chuckling., "Me, too." She may not feel the same way about me that I do about her – I'm actually a bit confused about her feelings, honestly – but we do think so alike at times. That's near the exact same thing I said to the Gamemakers. It's just all too perfect.

She tells me that that we're also on the exact same page on the whole front of President Snow being determined to kill us. I try to put myself beyond this situation, and think in terms of if he succeeds. If I fail at protecting her, if he "wins" will it still really be a win for him? "But even if that happens, everyone will know we've gone out fighting right?" The rebellion could live on. Without me, definitely. But without Katniss to view as a symbol of their hope, maybe the people could still hold on, knowing that we were on their side. We did go out trying to fight.

She's in agreement with me, saying, "Everyone will."

Even so… "everyone will" benefit far more from me keeping her alive to lead and inspire them. That's what I need to do, and I'll die trying. After a few moments, she pulls back from our embrace, asking, "So what should we do with our last few days?"

Do I try to distance myself from her? Should I? All I really know is that these absolutely will be my last few days out in a world that isn't Capitol constructed. And all I've ever hoped for is the be with Katniss, ever since I was five-years-old. I want to spend all my time with her. I answer her honestly, putting myself out there, even if it's to be rejected. "I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."

I don't know what she wants. There are times when she just confuses me so much. This is one of those times, as she responds, "Come on, then." And pulls me into her room. She leads me to the bed and we get in, and it feels just like it did on the Victory Tour, when I would lay here with her in my arms. She would immediately doze off, and I would lie here, holding her.

I feel warm inside, just so happy. Complete. The same way I always feel when we're so close. But at the same time, I'm just confused. See, I know she doesn't love me, and I know she doesn't want to be with me in a romantic sense. But this… cuddling and way of sleeping, even though I enjoy it, doesn't tell me that she wants to be my friend. She tangles up my thoughts and I just keep coming back for more.

Leaning back into the pillows, she snuggles up to me, even as she sleeps. I wonder if she knows that she's a snuggler. She probably wouldn't believe it if I told her. I'm happy to just lay here with her and hold her, keeping this closeness.

… I wonder if Gale would be. He doesn't really strike me as the type who is content to cuddle.

I order myself to not think those thoughts. And to stop thinking about what's real or not real here with her. Because this, holding her in my arms as we sleep, this is real. She's not faking anything right here, right now. She wants to comfort I can give her at night, and I want to give it. That's as far as I'm willing to go.

So I close my eyes and drift off… the next thing I know, it's morning. I'm not covered in sweat, I'm not chased by bad dreams. It's like she's a balm, that soothes me while I sleep. And maybe I do the same for her, because she didn't scream last night. Not a peep. I look down at her, seeing her head still resting on my chest. Her eyes are fluttering open, and, seeing that she's awake, I say, "No nightmares." Meaning she's was completely fine last night.

"No nightmares," she repeats. Then asks, "You?"

"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," I confess to her. Even when I don't wake up from nightmares, I never sleep for long. And judging by the clock next to her bed, I slept for over eight hours, completely uninterrupted. As did she. I make no movements to get up, and neither does she. She just keeps her head laying on my shoulder, and I draw my hand up and down her arm, thinking about what today will entail. Last year's training preparation wasn't laborious, but it was long. An entire day with Effie and Haymitch, when all I really want to do is spend it with Katniss.

The red-haired Avox knocks and comes in about ten minutes after we woke up, and hands Katniss a note, looking away from us quickly and walking out. Katniss sits up and opens the note and reads aloud, "Katniss and Peeta – Given your recent tour and how well you both did, Haymitch and I have agreed that you are both adequately equipped to handle yourselves in public. Your coaching sessions have been canceled. Have a nice day – Effie."

"Really?" I reach over and take the note from her, a bit disbelieving. But as I read it, I wonder if it's possible that Haymitch and Effie have read my mind – but it's more likely they're both too upset with us to want to spend the day with us. Either way, I'll take it. "Do you know what this means? We'll have the whole day to ourselves." My mind starts racing with the possibilities a whole day off gives us.

She puts her hands in her lap and looks out the window of the room, "It's too bad we can't go somewhere."

I want to get that sad look off her face, and I wrack my mind for something… we are confined to the building, it's true… but not inside of the building, I think and say, "Who says we can't?"

Katniss raises her brow at me and I tell her, "The roof. It's a beautiful day out, there's the flower garden up there, the wind chimes. We can order up food and have a picnic."

She smiles at me, and agrees. I reach over to her phone and call up the food, and we separate, me going into my own room to change into some shorts and a T-shirt. After a moment, I decide to bring the comforter off my bed, to lay it out on the ground up there so we can lounge on it. As I leave my room and go into the hall, an attendant pushes a food cart toward me. When he reaches me, Katniss comes out of her room. The attendant gives us a pitying look, and walks away.

Rather than pack up the food, we just bring the whole cart up to the roof. While I lay out the blanket, she selects what we're going to eat for breakfast. When I've found the perfect location, she has the fruit, eggs, bread, and juice all set. We eat primarily in silence, looking out over at the Capitol. It has a rather ethereal beauty to it.

Afterwards, neither of us feels like doing anything, so we both lay back and close our eyes, enjoying the feeling of the sun on our skin. Neither of us has seen daylight since we've been here, always confined to the Training Center. After a bit, I get up on one elbow and look at Katniss, seeing her hair spread out all over the blanket, her face just so abnormally content. "I want to sketch you." I say. I thought the words had only been in my head, but I did indeed say them out loud.

She opens one eye, "Why?"

Because you're beautiful. Because I want to remember you always being relaxed and looking content. Because I love you. I shrug, "Because."

She settles back down and closes her eyes, "Okay. Sketch away."

I get up, "Don't move." And I run to get my notebook. It's not my ideal sketch paper, but it'll do the job. Making my way back up to the roof, I see that she hasn't moved, and I take out a pencil and start to sketch. It takes a while, and by the time I'm done, I'm pretty sure it's around noontime.

As I shut the notebook, she sits up, "Not only did I have all that sleep last night, but I just had a nap. I haven't napped in months."

She leans over and pops a blueberry into her mouth, and then makes a "hmm" noise. As I watch, she snaps some vines off of flowers in the gardens and looks at me, explaining, "It would be useful to know how to make the knots and stuff using something I might find in the arena, right?"

I see her point and, even though I'm not as good as she is with the knots and nets and whatnot, we both spend a while making some half-decent stuff with the vines. When we're done, we eat lunch, and we don't talk too much, but talking or not, this is still one of the best days I've ever had.

Taking an apple, I stand up and she follows. She walks in one direction along the edge of the roof, trailing her fingers over the railing, and I walk in the other. She sighs, "This is fun. But I actually kind of miss the running around and physical activity of training."

Hmm… I give the apple in my hand a little toss up into the air and catch it, flashing back to Haymitch's Games. How the force field will throw everything back at you. And this one is no different. "Hay, Katniss," I say, and she looks back at me. I chuck the apple over the edge at an angle, "Catch!"

And the apple comes bouncing back up a few feet ahead of her. She leaps forward to catch it, and lobs it back over the edge, angled toward me, laughing. After a while, we're both sweaty and breathing hard and we make our way back to the picnic blanket. The apple seemed to have enough of being zapped back by the force field, and is mostly mush now.

I sit on the blanket, smiling and she plops down next to me, laying her head in my lap and pulling a handful of flowers from the bed next to her. She starts fiddling with them, tying them all together. Her hair is spread all over my lap, and I reach down, playing with it. I love her hair. I always have.

She looks up at me, "I think you have a fixation."

I tease back, "I'm just practicing knots." Though I do, possibly, have a fixation with her hair. I look around us, seeing how perfect everything is. Forgetting the circumstances, leaving the past behind, I'm having a perfect moment with Katniss Everdeen. This is better than any of the days I thought she was in love with me, because this is so completely real. No pretenses. Nothing to hide. Just me and her.

I wish this could last forever. The thought makes me still. There has never been a time in my life where I wished I could freeze time. I like to look into the future, to hope for what may be. But right now, I wish everything could just stop. She looks into my eyes, "What?"

And even though she usually doesn't like when I say things like this, I can't stop myself. I don't want to. "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever."

I wait for her to pull away from me, or tell me not to say things like that, or just look plain uncomfortable. But all she says is, "Okay."

Okay? Really? Excitement makes my heart beat faster, prompts me to smile, and I ask, "Then you'll allow it?"

She looks kind of _regal_ as she nods, "I'll allow it."

I go back to playing with her hair, and her fingers slowly stop playing with the crown of flowers she's making, and her breathing becomes even. I stroke her hair back from her face and just watch her. Allowing myself to wish for just this perfect day, things really were different. That we weren't in the Hunger Games, and for whatever reason, she loved me back. That would could have a wedding for real, heck, even our fake wedding. At least then, I would have known she'd be alive and safe and, maybe one day, she could have grown to be content with me. I stroke my finger down her cheek and whisper to her, "I would have done anything to make you happy."

She doesn't respond, of course, because she's asleep. I look off at the sky, which seems so close right now – almost attainable. The sun is just starting to set behind all of the huge buildings here, and this beauty makes me think of art and love, and I think Katniss would want to see it. I whisper to her, and brush her hair away from her face, and her eyes blink open. "I didn't think you'd want to miss it," I tell her.

She sits up, rubbing her eyes, "Thanks."

While the sun goes down, we both eat the food we still have left on the cart. After a while, though, I stop looking at the sun, and start watching her. She's engrossed in the sight, and I think _I hope you find someone to love as much as I love you_. She deserves to feel this way about someone, whether it's Gale Hawthorne or anyone else.

After it's dark up here, we still don't go in, even though it's dinner time. I half expect Effie to come up and get us – they have to know where we are – but she doesn't. "I'm glad. I'm tired of making everyone around me so miserable." I think of the tears my prep team and Portia have shed over me, as well as Effie. "Everyone crying." And then there's Haymitch, who does care, but he doesn't show it through tears, so I just add, "Or Haymitch."

She nods in agreement and lays back down. I lie down next to her and we both look up at the stars, pointing out shapes we see in them every so often. But now that the sun has set on the perfect day, all I can think about is how we only have one more day before the arena. Before my certain death and a hard battle to keep her alive.

When she starts yawning repeatedly, I push myself up and offer her my hand, "To bed?"

She accepts it, "To bed." We fold up the blanket and place it on the cart, and go back to her room. We change into pajamas, and spend this night just as we spent the last. But the morning is completely different. Her prep team is there, and I leave promptly, because I know my own is waiting in my room.

When I enter, Talia and Leontius both grab me by a hand, and lead me to the bathroom. "You were with her, weren't you? That's so… that's so…" But Leontius can't finish his sentence as he breaks off into quiet tears.

Talia finishes for him, "Beautiful. Tragic." And then she starts crying as well.

Ravilla is in the bathroom, waiting for me, and she seems to be working hard to stay composed. When I question her, she says, "We overheard Cinna asking Katniss' prep team not to cry in front of her. That is makes her upset. We didn't want to upset you, too."

I appreciate it, "Thank you," I tell them. Because tears don't bother me, but just thinking about how in almost no time, these people who have all come to love me, who I have come to care for, will cease to know me… how everyone I know will be living in a world without me in less than a week, it sets me on an already emotional edge. I don't know if I can handle their tears all through the morning this time.

But when they pop me in the shower and let me scrub myself down – an oddity – I can hear them all sobbing over the water. I shut it off and step out, and they've done a good job of stopping their tears, for the most part. I don't mention anything.

Unlike most days, when they're popping with chatter and information to tell me about the Capitol, they're quiet today. I can hear their misery, and it makes me miserable, too. I try to district myself, thinking about what's going to happen in my interview. Last year, I dropped a bomb – playing up my very real love for Katniss – to get sponsors in our favor. This year, I have to do the same thing.

But how? I proclaimed my love for her on national television. I proposed to her on national television. What else can I do on national television? Something big. Something no one sees coming. It has to be huge. I think of the most in love couple I know – Thyler and Haylee. They had big news before – love declarations, engagement, and a wedding. But I can't very well put on a wedding ceremony on stage tonight, though I have no doubt the crowd would eat it up.

Then it hits me. I'm going to be an uncle – or I would be, if I were to live that long. _Everyone_ loves a baby. No one could stand to sit by and wait for something to happen to someone that innocent. Especially not if it's my baby with Katniss…

Yes. A baby is perfect. By the time I have the baby thing planned out, I'm prepped. They all step back to admire their handiwork and before they can leave, I catch them all in a hug. "Thank you. All of you. It's been an honor to have known you all and have been worked on by you."

Now they do start sobbing, and they all come back for another hug. I give it to them, and as they pull back, Ravilla says, "Peeta, we've worked with other tributes before. You were the sweetest, most attractive one. And we love you."

She barely gets the words out before she flees from the room, followed by Leontius and Talia, and the door is barely shut behind them when Portia comes in. She makes eye contact with me, letting me see the apology in her eyes, "I'm sorry, Peeta. About what I have to do."

Not quite understanding what she's talking about, I shake my head, "I don't quite follow."

She gives me a sad look, and then unzips the bag that has my outfit for tonight in it. My stomach sinks. It's a traditional wedding tuxedo worn by men in the Capitol. It's what I would have worn to my and Katniss's fake wedding. "Oh." Then the thought hits me and it just serves to depress me even more, as I ask quietly, "I guess this means she'll be wearing her wedding dress."

Portia interlocks her hands in front of her, "You guess correctly." I'm just having these thoughts about how cruel President Snow is – he must have chosen to do this – when Portia continues, "Cinna was just so adamant that Katniss wear her wedding dress. I'm so sorry."

She gets to work, doing my hair, dressing me up, all the while I think – why would Cinna do that? He must have had a reason. And instead of being angry at him, I start to see how this could work to my advantage. People here in the Capitol love me and Katniss, and were looking forward to our wedding. When they see me in this – and most of all, Katniss in her wedding dress – they are going to flip. And it works for me to pull off the whole baby thing, too.

Hmm. Okay. Maybe it could work to my advantage. By the time I'm all set and ready to go, Portia is nearly despondent. She draws her hands down my lapels and speaks quietly, "You know, you're the only friend I have. I used to have Cinna, and then you, and now you're both… well… anyway." She clears her throat and gives me a watery smile, "You do look dashing."

She is combing out my hair, trying out different styles to fill up the half hour we still have left and I offer up, "I used to dream when I was little that I would be married to Katniss. That we'd dress up and have our ceremony and we'd live happily."

Still playing with my hair, she gives back, "I once asked Cinna to marry me. It was silly of me, I guess, but I did. Two years ago, when we were twenty-three, right after he had just met my family. Regardless. He said no. We just moved in together instead."

I reach up and take her hand in mine, forcing her to look down at me, "We were meant to have met, Portia. You and I… we were destined."

Her eyes fill with tears, and they spill over as she bends to hug me tightly, "I'm going to miss you so much. You're the only man who's never disappointed me, you know. And you are so perfect. You bet we were meant to be together, even if we're both in love with other people, it's you and me."

I think of how she once told me that her father left she, her sister, and her mom for another woman, and never looked back at them. Of how, before Cinna, she only ever had one boyfriend, and they dated all throughout school, and in the end he was cheating on her. And then, there's Cinna, who I'm sure loves her, but, for some reason, can't bring himself to tell her what she needs to hear. And I think the same words I thought about Katniss yesterday, whispering, "You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy. I hope you don't give up trying to find him."

"I won't," she promises, and draws back. "I just wish you had found someone, too."

"I have," I tell her, thinking of my time with Katniss yesterday, "I've already found the person who makes me happy. It just so happens I don't do the same for her."

Portia shakes her head and uses her hold on my hand to pull me up, "Well, we have differing opinions sometimes. But, forget that, because it's time for you to go."

I go down to where I'll be interviewed – going last, as I'm the District Twelve male – and my feet stumble over themselves when I catch sight of Katniss. The sight of her in that dress, beautiful, poised, magnificent, makes me wish I could just take her in my arms and take her away from everything that could ever harm her.

But I take a deep breath and go in, sit next to her, and do my best to not stare. I need to keep my focus now, concentrate on the interviews. Which are miles more interesting than they were last year. Because I was right. These victors _aren't_ happy about going into the arena again. Even Gloss and Cashmere, who have been pretty distant from the group of us at training, have remarks to say that get the crowd riled up.

I don't see it until Johanna Mason is up there on stage, begging the cameras to see if anyone can do anything about sending us all back in. They are all pissed off. And they are doing something about it. They are giving Snow the finger, and getting the crowd worked up into a chaotic state, but in the first eleven districts, it's like they're just giving the audience a tease of what upset they're going to have coming.

And it's up to me and Katniss to give them the whole she-bang. Finally, when Katniss is called up, the crowd goes nuts, just seeing her in the dress. With them all behind me, I can't hear a word she and Caesar are saying, but I know it's getting the crowd more and more worked up. Then she does a repeat of last year, standing in her beautiful dress and spinning, twirling around and moving her arms, and then panic seizes me when she catches on fire,

I'm halfway out of my chair, prepared to get up there and help her, when it happens and I freeze. Because she isn't wearing the wedding dress anymore. She's a real live human mockingjay.

* * *

**Katniss? The mockingjay :O Who saw that one coming? ;) **


	19. Let the Games Begin: Redux

The crowd is applauding now, but they don't all know what I know, what Katniss knows… what the rebels in the districts know. Apparently what Cinna knows. The mockingjay is the sign of the rebellion. She is giving the entire nation hope right now, telling them that she hasn't forgotten about them. To keep holding on.

And she is glorious. While she and Caesar Flickerman give Cinna the credit and he bows, I finally piece it all together. He's been in on it. Cinna is a rebel. He didn't tell Portia, but I could assume it's to keep her as safe as possible. And my palms start sweating when he takes that bow. That's exactly the same thing as him standing up and saying to Snow "Look what I did to you. Embarrassed on your own turf, in front of the entire nation."

It can't bode well for him. At least before he took ownership, maybe there could have been some speculation that Katniss had managed to do that on her own. But not anymore. Now he's destined to be punished in some way. He has to know it, too.

Then Katniss' buzzer rings, and it's show time. I get up, and Katniss tries to look at me when we pass each other. But I can't give her the brief contact and reassurance she's looking for. Not right now. Caesar stands to greet me, and I smile easily back at him, "Nice to see you, too, Caesar."

He leads me over to my seat, the one Katniss just vacated, and I don't immediately take a seat, first examining it closely. Caesar looks at me questioningly, "What is it?"

"Just wanted to make sure the chair isn't on fire or secretly harboring burning feathers." I tell him and continue to look at it while the audience laughs.

"Great idea." Caesar joins me in examining my seat, "Well, I think you're safe."

"I agree," I say and sit down in the chair, sniffing the air, "And if I do say so, that poultry was a bit overcooked."

Caesar leads the crowd in a laugh, and says, "Definitely. I don't want to eat any of my meat after it's been on fire."

It's my cue, and I look down at the ground, purposefully discouraged, all the while putting on a noticeably fake laugh. "Right. Yeah, nothing broiled for me, please."

I rub my hands on my legs, then then my face, like I'm really having to work hard to be this happy person. Caesar looks out into the audience, who are already demanding I tell them what's wrong, and he asks, "So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?"

Now I make eye contact with him, before looking out into the crowd. They are ten times more wild than they were last year, and they're hanging on my every word. Perfect. "I was in shock. I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next…" I trail off, as if it's really too hard for me to keep talking about all that happened after the Quell was announced.

Caesar, his voice quiet, like it's supposed to be comforting, as he 'finishes my thoughts' with, "You realized there was never going to be a wedding?"

The audience is quiet now, all leaning in to hear what I have to say, and I take a deep breath, looking out at them, making eye contact with as many as possible in a few moments, before looking at Caesar, careful to appear like I have something big weighing on my chest, "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?"

The people absolutely salivate at my words and Caesar laughs uncomfortably, probably thinking I'm going to continue on in Katniss' footsteps with the whole mockingjay thing. Oh, the fuse is about to blow, Caesar. Just not in the way you think. Though I know he's probably kind of dreading what I'm going to say, he answers, "I feel quite certain of it."

I look down at the floor, then at Katniss, and then at Caesar, almost whispering – just an octave above it, as to make sure everyone knows this is a secret – "We're already married."

Their reaction to my News: Part 1 is satisfying. Shock, amazement, pure and simple. Even Caesar is speechless, as he asks, "But… how can that be?"

I shake my head with an ease and carefreeness that someone who's relieved they got out a huge secret would do, but not quite completely trouble-free. "Oh, it's not an official marriage." I share District Twelve's marriage bread toasting ceremony with them, and say that Katniss and I did that. I can picture it in my mind, and it helps me say it with complete conviction.

Caesar asks, "Were your families there?"

I tell him that we didn't tell anyone, making sure I sound confident that we did the right thing, and the audience sighs when I say, "To us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

I look out at the people, and see everyone already start to get teary eyed: perfect. Caesar looks at me, something like sympathy stirring in his eyes, "So this was before the Quell?"

"Of course this was before the Quell!" I outburst. Time to show some real emotion here. Maybe get teary-eyed myself, if necessary. "I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew. But who could have seen it coming? No one." I look out at my fellow victor tributes, and right now I really can sympathize and put myself into this story. Because none of us really did see this coming. And it is unjust. "We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere –" I interrupt myself here, having to clear my throat, before I say, "I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?"

I look down at the ground, in this despair, and think _almost time to unleash it_, when Caesar wraps his arm around me in comfort. "You couldn't, Peeta. As you say, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

Everyone claps in agreement with him, screams that their sentiments are the same as his, and I know it's time when Katniss looks up from where she's been hiding her face, her eyes watering, surely from the smoke of her dress, but what look like some real tears. Time to stun them, I think, and say, "I'm not glad. I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially."

Caesar gives me the perfect opening when, through his surprise at my last statement, "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

I narrow my eyes, hoping to convey my "bitterness" as I say, "Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, if it weren't for the baby."

Even I couldn't have predicted a better delivery from myself. And I _under_estimated the audience's reaction. I can see it all from my perch on the stage, as everyone is immediately out of their seats, screaming at their top of their lungs, throwing things – so completely against the Hunger Games, that for a moment, I sympathize with them, with the people in the Capitol. They haven't suffered like the people in the districts have, but they have suffered in their own right. And they don't even realize what they've been through – they've been brainwashed. All of them, brainwashed into thinking that the Hunger Games are good thing, brainwashed into being happy about the murdering of children.

No more words can be exchange between us, because the people are going too insane over my news that no amount of Caesar trying to calm them would work. When the buzzer goes off, I nod goodbye, and stand, going back to my seat. These people, they're all going crazy over the death of an unborn child that doesn't even exist. And yet they are the ones who bring children to die here, year after year.

I think of all the people who died last year, starting with Rue, and moving onto even Cato and Clove. I think of all of the people I'd watched die on all of those tapes from the other victors' Games. Every single year, twenty-three kids are forced to walk into their own death. Each and every one of them, just a kid. Dying out there, alone. They had families, people who loved them, and were forced to watch them die.

I can't stop tears from falling from my eyes, as every single one of the dead tributes I've seen over the past few months plays again and again in my head. Even more sorrow hits me when I see the people I saw die with my own eyes last year, like that girl from District Eight, whose hand I held. I can still feel hers in mine as her lest breath left her body.

They turn us against each other, all the Gamemakers, President Snow – anyone who's involved in the Hunger Games. It's fun for them, it's amusement to watch as children murder other children. As the anthem booms in my ears, and I stand, I won't let them separate us this year. Even if it's just me and Katniss, we'll continue to show them that we won't turn on each other. I reach out for her hand, and hers interlocks with mine quickly.

And then, as if everyone is thinking what I'm thinking, as if every single one of us victor tributes is on the same page about refusing to be just another piece in their Games, we all hold hands, forming one unit. All of us standing united as one, showing that a hope for peace, a hope for a future without Hunger Games and crazy bloodlust isn't out of grasp.

Those running the cameras must realize what I did, because after a few moments of televising all of us standing as one, they cut straight to nothing. Too late for them, though, because the damage has been done. But as soon as the chain of us breaks, it's like that one shining moment is crashing down around us, and there's chaos everywhere.

Katniss is looking around, I can tell she's trying to figure out what to do, so I keep a firm grip on her hand, and tug her along with me to the elevators, before everything is so mobbed we can't make it up. I feel exhilarated, but I also need to know how Katniss feels about what happened up on that stage.

As soon as we're out of the elevator, I take her gently by the shoulders, looking in her eyes as I know we won't be alone for long, "There isn't much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?" I'm just thinking about last year, when I declared my love for her – something far less dramatic than tonight – and she was fuming mad.

She shakes her head, though, and tells me, "Nothing."

That is such a relief. While we stand here and wait for the others to return, I think about how glad I am that my family knows the truth about Katniss and I. If they – especially Luc, Thyler, and my dad – thought that I got Katniss pregnant and then we were being sent into the arena, they would react… badly. And I know there would be dire consequences. My mother doesn't know the truth, but then again, my mother would outcry like everyone else I know would.

Then Haymitch gets off the elevator and tells us that everyone has been sent home. Katniss and I both rush to the window to see what's happening below, and while they talk, I think about how I'll never see Effie again. I wanted to thank her profusely, I wanted to hug her. I just… I just wanted to have a real goodbye with her. Sadly, I say, "Then we'll never see Effie again." I mean, I can hope and try my best that Katniss will, but even if she does make it out of the Games alive, I have no idea if Snow is even going to let her keep seeing Effie and Cinna and Portia after this. I look at Haymitch and request, "You'll give her our thanks."

Katniss adds on to what I said, asking Haymitch to expand and give her our love. Once he agrees, we all stand there facing each other. Because all of us know what has to come next. Saying goodbye to Haymitch. And of course, he starts it, "I guess this is where we say our goodbyes as well."

"Any last word of advice?" I ask him.

He grunts, "Stay alive," at us, and I want to laugh and cry at the same time. I remember the first time when he gave us that "advice" and we both got so angry with him. I had wished I had a different mentor. Now I can't imagine what my life would be like without him. In a rare display of affection, he gives us both hugs, and I swear that I feel his body start to quake with tears that he refuses to shed. Because he loves us, whether he's going to say it or not. "Go to bed," he orders, "You need your rest."

We should go. But Katniss and I can't move, not without saying something back to him. Just something, anything, to get across that we love him, too, without saying the actual words, because he would hate that. Eventually, I come up with, "You take care, Haymitch."

He nods, and I think we're all on the verge of coming apart, so Katniss and I start to leave the room, only stopped by his voice, "Katniss, when you're in the arena…" he stops, and can't bring himself to continue until Katniss prompts him to, "You just remember who the enemy is. That's all. Now go on. Get out of here."

More of their secret code. But I feel emotionally wrecked, and I can't bring myself to care. We walk down the hallway slowly, and I stop by my door, "I need to change. And wash all this makeup off me, at least."

But she pulls on my arm, leading me toward her room, "No. You can wash it off in my room. Please."

She seems desperate, and she is hardly ever this way about anything, so I concede, and go into her room with her. We make small talk until we climb into bed, and then silence takes over. Most nights, I just have my arms loosely around her and she snuggles close. But tonight we both clutch at each other, because we both know that this is the last real night. Before… everything.

Neither of us move, neither of us speak, but I know we both spend practically the whole night awake. Thinking about what's to come. I'm the first one to do anything in hours, when, as the first shafts of light seep in through her window, I pull back. She looks up at me, and I fight against this overwhelming depression at the fact that I'm losing her, and I give her a gentle kiss, "See you soon." In the arena, I think, as my heart practically is swallowed by sadness.

She says the words back to me, and I slide out from under the covers and walk out of the room, unable to bring myself to look back at her. I go into my room, only managing to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, before Portia bursts into my room. "Time to go," she tells me, and her voice sounds so hollow.

We link arms, and both go up to the roof, and get into the hovercraft that's going to take us to the Launch Room. We ride in silence, both of us still inked by the arm, until we arrive, and Portia seems to have herself meticulously composed. She gets me into a chair, and pushes a plate toward me, saying, "Eat. I mean it. And drink."

I manage to eat about half the plate she made, and drink until I feel like I'll burst, because I know that food and water aren't easy at all to come by in the arena, and I need to keep up my strength if I'm to protect Katniss.

Portia examines my suit – a zippered blue jumpsuit, a padded purple belt, and nylon shoes with rubber soles – her face deep in concentration. "This won't do much against the cold. Or water… perhaps the sun, though."

She helps me into it, and then looks at me, her big eyes sad, "You were fabulous last night, Peeta."

Last night. I want to tell her what I figured out about Cinna, but it's not for me to do. It won't make her situation any better, unless he tells her himself. But I want to end on a good note – a fabulous note – with her. I take her hands in mine and look her in the eye, "Listen, Portia, you take care of yourself, okay? Remember that you're strong, and beautiful, and you can do anything."

She drops my hands and throws her arms around me, squeezing tight, "You are such a beautiful person, Peeta Mellark. And I've done some thinking in the last few days. I think I am going to open that shop."

I feel a smile pull at my lips, "Really? I'm so happy for you."

She nods, "I just don't think I could ever go through another Games, not without you here with me. Besides, I should go back to my true passion. If you've taught me anything, it's that I can't put my wants and needs on hold. I have to go after what I want, here and now."

I'm happier beyond words that I could inspire someone I love so much to do something that big. Honored, even. And I tell her so. I step up onto the metal plate, and she says, "Oh!" And hands me the locket just in time for the glass to close around me.

We both wave at each other, and she starts to cry again, as I'm lifted up, seeing her face for the last time. My throat starts to shut at the thought, burning with the urge to cry, but I swallow the tears back. This is time to remember my training. This is time to be strong and swift and protector-Peeta.

But as the plate stops moving, I automatically jump backwards as water laps at my feet. I've never seen so much water in my life, and my heart races in panic as I seek Katniss out among the other tributes. How can I protect her when I don't even know how to get off this plate?

* * *

**So... let the seventy-fifth Hunger Games commence!**


	20. Fried

I'm still panicking, trying desperately to when Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out of nowhere, announcing, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

My heart pounds, feeling like it's slamming into my ribs when I realize that this means there is less than a minute until that gong rings and that these Games are way different than the set-up for last year's. I search around me, seeing Cecelia on the plate to my left, and then ten other tributes are in my view as well.

Two by two, we are separated by long strips of land that leads to a smallish circular island, which holds the large, golden Cornucopia. The rest of the tributes must be on the other side of it. Including Katniss, because she's nowhere to be found over here. The gong rings, and I see Finnick, who's about four tributes away from me, dive right into the water, cutting through it with obvious, District Four ease.

Worry is mixed in with the panic now, and all I can think is about Katniss. She's on the complete opposite side from me, I have no idea what she's doing over there or what anyone is doing to her. But within moments, she shocks me by appearing on my side of the island, digging into the Cornucopia.

About to all out to her to watch out for Finnick, who's approaching her from behind, I stop myself. Because they seem to have come to some sort of understanding, and he kills Leon from Five, who managed to make his way over there. I can see the typical Careers – Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus, and Enobaria – already paddling their way to the sand bars, making their way to the Cornucopia for Katniss, and our apparent new ally, Finnick.

And I'm stuck over here. Keeping an eye on the fighting on shore, I crouch down, sinking my hand into the water. The only time I've ever seen anything like it is the brief look I had at the beaches in District Four during the Victory Tour. It's deep and there are crashing waves, that keep bringing the water up and rising over my feet.

I wish I could be of some use to her, over there on shore, while she sends arrows out at Enobaria, Gloss, and Brutus, but I'd be even less help to her if I dived off this thing and drowned than I would by standing here. Right?

I hear Cecelia's voice from next to me and she asks, "Can't swim?"

I look over at her and shake my head, "Can you?"

She gives me a small laugh, "If I could, I wouldn't be standing here still, would I?"

"Guess not." I smile back at her, but force myself to look away. Her poor little kids are back at home, watching this.

When I look up, I see Katniss and Finnick both come to the edge of sand off to my right, and it's Finnick who dives in, swimming over to me. He must have told her he would come and get me. And she must have trusted him to do so. So I should trust him too, I think.

But I still brace myself as he comes closer and closer toward me, subconsciously tightening my muscles in preparation for a fight. He arrives at my plate, and hauls himself up. I back up to the other edge. He holds out his arm to me, and lets me see what's on it – Haymitch's bracelet, the one that I picked out for him, that matched my ankle band.

Which means that Haymitch must have given it to him. As a message to both me and Katniss, telling him that he's on our side. Cautiously, I step toward him, and he gestures to Katniss, who's standing off in the distance watching us. He says, "We're on the same side. He said that you'd be the one to be reasonable."

And now I meet his eyes, and see that I can trust him. Haymitch _would_ say that about me, so I make the decision that could make or break my goal: I step forward and let him grab me, and pull me into the water. Finnick is probably the best ally to have in this arena. He's the most skillful and in the best shape. If there was anyone who would be my greatest asset in protection Katniss, it would be him.

So I make peace with the fact that Katniss and I had asked for no allies, and Haymitch went behind our backs and said yes to Finnick anyway. When I'm in District Twelve, it's fine to yell at him and be angry with him. But in the arena, it's best to believe he knows what he's doing. After all, he did help us get out of the first one alive. I have to believe he'll help me get Katniss out of this one, too.

When we get back to where Katniss is standing on shore, Finnick says, "Reach." So I hold up my arms to her, and she helps haul me out of the water.

Finnick effortlessly hops up beside me, and I stand, relieved beyond words to be standing here with Katniss, who's not only unharmed, but armed, with a strong ally. I smile at her, "Hello, again. We've got allies." And I can't help it – plus, we're on camera, so it can only help – I lean in and give her a quick kiss.

I can see the annoyance in her eyes, though not directed at me, as she answers, "Yes. Just as Haymitch intended."

"Remind me," I say, "Did we make deals with anyone else?" I address both her and Finnick now, knowing that Katniss didn't make any ally deals, but he might have. And if he did, we need to know.

Katniss gestures to the oldest competitor here, who is slowly making her way toward us in the water, "Only Mags, I think."

Mags. Mags is someone else that I like – albeit I can't understand a word she says – and she's just so old that she reminds me of my grandmother, the one who taught me how to paint. Finnick looks over at his district partner, "Well, I can't leave Mags behind. She's one of the few people who actually likes me."

Katniss remarks about how she likes Mags, and that her fishhooks will be useful. I back her up, telling Finnick, "Katniss wanted her on the first day."

Finnick says, "Katniss has remarkably good judgment." And then pulls Mags out of the water, placing her on the ground with care. It's clear that, despite his flippant comments and whatnot, he really does care for her.

Mags, on the other hand, says something in her rather gargled was of speaking, I catch none of it, but Finnick knows exactly what she said, and points out how the suits work. These belts are here for flotation. It was the District Three pair – no surprise there, accounting for their intelligence – who figured it out.

With more and more people coming to shore, and the new Career pack at the other side of the Cornucopia, we decide that we should get going off of this sand. "Here," Katniss says to me, as she hands me a sheath of arrows and a bow, which I can use mediocrely, after having her direction and help for the past few months. I sling them both over my shoulder, and take the knife she gives me. Now this will be more useful for me.

We all make our way to the edge of the sand, and Katniss and I both pause before we start up the slope of the hill. I stop because I recognize that these aren't like the woods from home. I remember one of the Hunger Games tapes I watched, it was the year Ami, a morphling from District Six won, when there was almost exactly what's here right now. The announcers called it a jungle.

We're in a jungle now. An uphill jungle. With Finnick carrying both his trident and Mags, and the fact that I don't want Katniss to be walking first, not when it could be dangerous, whatever's out there, I step up in front of the pair, "I'll take the lead."

And they fall behind me, forming a line, as I walk into the vines ahead. I get about ten feet in, having to step over the bushes, the vines, before I think to use the knife in my hand to start hacking at all of the vegetation in front of me. It makes for easier walking ground, but it also tires out my arm quickly. Every few minutes, I switch the knife back and forth between my hands.

It's hot here, and we've only been walking for what I would deem about twenty minutes before my hair and clothes are soaked through with sweat. This heat is about double what I'm used to on the hottest of summer days in District Twelve. Even Finnick, who's in better shape than anyone I've ever seen in my life, is breathing heavily.

But we keep pushing on, trying to get as far away from the bloodbath as possible. I push through this exhaustion, with the thought in mind that the farther we are from the Cornucopia, the farther we are from the Careers down there, making with the slaughtering and targeting of Katniss. But after a bit, Finnick's voice reaches me from behind, "Can we take a break for a little bit?"

I look behind at him, and though he's sweating and breathing heavily, he doesn't look worse for the wear. However, Mags does, and I realize he's doing it for her. I stop and lower the arm I have the knife in, "Sure, we can have a little break."

Katniss eyes a tree while Finnick sets Mags down to sit and rest. She says, "I'm going to get up here and try to see what's going on at the Cornucopia."

I don't really want her to see what's going on there. She wasn't there last year to see the remnants of it, and I was. Bodies littered the ground, blood was smeared and pooling all over the place. It wasn't something I would choose to see again in this lifetime. But she's already shimmying up the tree, and Finnick is circling around, looking at the wildlife around us.

Kneeling on the ground next to Mags, I put a light hand on her shoulder, "How are you doing?"

She garbles a bit at me, and I may hear the word "hot" but I really can't be sure. I think she understands that I find it kind of difficult to understand what she says when she speaks, so then she nods to let me know she's all right. Then she holds up the awl Katniss gave her to hold on to.

I nod and look at the small tool, "It's great that you know how to work that. I have no clue, to be honest. Luckily, Katniss knew that, and handed me a knife instead."

Mags nods and gives me a toothless smile, and I smile back. Then she focuses on something behind me, and I turn around to see Katniss and Finnick both standing in what I would think of as battle positions, circling each other. He has his trident at the ready, as she has her bow and arrow perched to go.

No way. Not losing our ally, who I think has more to his story with Haymitch than he's let on, especially on the first day. But I can't let anything happen to her, either, and I tell Mags, "I'm on it." Before I jog over to the pair and step between the, facing Katniss, "So how many are dead?"

Her voice is tight, her eyes hard, when she tells me, "Hard to say. At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

Six people already dead, and still rearing to go. I'm glad we got out of there when we did, but I'm still uneasy about staying here in this same spot for too long, not too far away from those who are bloodthirsty. Especially with poor Mags sitting over there, overheated and thirstier than the rest of us. "Let's keep moving. We need water."

Finnick agrees, and makes a comment about how we'll need to be hiding tonight, and as I continue to cut through, trying to distract myself from the dryness of my throat, I think of how Haymitch got Finnick on our side. How did he make him want to keep Katniss alive? A though keeps tugging at the corner of my brain, begging me to listen. It whispers secrets about the rebellion, and how Katniss is at the middle. I keep thinking about Haymitch's last words to Katniss – _remember who the enemy really is_ – as I swing the knife over and over again.

But then it makes a connection with something that's not vines, and that's all I have time to think before this overwhelming heat envelops me and I'm sailing through the air. Stinging agony steals over my body and I have the distinct impression that I'm being sautéed alive before there's nothing.

* * *

**Ouch. Please review!**

**Also, some people are still asking me if I'll write Mockingjay, and to repeat: Yes, I will. It'll be posted some time after Burned ends.**


	21. Back to Life

It's like I'm being pulled out of the darkest fog I've ever seen before. I'm half aware of sensations on my body, but I can't seem to open my eyes. There is a pumping on my chest, a pair of lips on mine, and I can feel the pressure they're giving me, but I can't feel anything else. But then there's a few more pumps, and it's like I resurface.

I regain feeling in my body, and I wish I hadn't, because my heart hurts, only rival to a pain I felt last year in the Hunger Games, when my leg was attacked by Cato. Every breath of air in and out makes my heart feel like it's having a little seizure, and this feeling is completely unlike the last time I faded from consciousness after sustaining an injury.

Because when I woke from that one, able to open my eyes, I thought that I was in heaven. But I know, with this agony I'm feeling, I've most definitely alive. Involuntarily, my lungs make me cough, which makes my heart hurt even more, and then I feel soft fingers, fingers I recognize, in relief, poking around at my neck, and stroking through my hair. I know who it is, even before I hear her say, "Peeta?"

Even just moving my eyelids hurts, but I need to open my eyes, to see her, and make sure that even though I'm hurt, she's okay. Her face is right above mine, and she looks just as lovely and healthy as ever. But she looks so concerned, so scared, I need to put her at ease, make sure it sinks in that whatever happened, I'm really okay, despite this pain. The last thing I remember is my knife hitting something, then being… I think I was electrocuted. Because I hit the edge of the arena. I hit the force field! I wish I could smile with my discovery, but that would be way too much effort right now, as I say, "Careful. There's a force field up ahead."

She gives me that wonderful laugh, but at the same time, she starts to cry. I want to wipe away her tears, but I don't think I'm up to lifting my arms yet. So I just need to go on like this is completely normal, and I continue speaking, "Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof. I'm all right, though. Just a little shaken." Not really. A little shaken would be what I would feel if I hit the force field on the roof of the Training Center. After all, that apple we had lasted for hours bouncing off that thing.

But the words I say don't seem to make her feel any better, and seeing her face crumple as she yells at me, "You were dead! Your heart stopped!" Makes me feel even worse. I'm failing at keeping her spirits up, that's for sure. Then she really starts to worry me, and is making these choking sounds in her throat, which she tries to muffle by covering her mouth.

I was dead? Really dead? How did I get… not dead? But I can't keep focusing on me, and I still want to make her see that I'm okay, I say, "Well, it seems to be working now. It's all right, Katniss." But she clearly doesn't believe me, and those strange sounds continue, and get stronger. It sounds like something's really wrong, and I try to push myself up, asking, "Katniss?"

Finnick gets me to tear my gaze away from her for a second when he says, "It's okay. It's just her hormones." I look up at him, for a second completely forgetting about any of the story I gave Caesar, and thinking he's pulling some insulting she's-a-woman card, before he gives us both a look like we're daft, and says slowly, "From the baby."

Oh. Right. From the baby. Well, that's fine for him to think, but I know that's not what's wrong with her. She tries to disagree with his assessment, but can't even finish it before she starts crying even harder than I'd have though possible. I want desperately to reach up and at least stroke a hand over her hair, but I can't even manage to lift only my hand off the dirt ground.

Finnick distracts me from my helplessness, and asks, "How are you? Do you think you can move on?"

It's possible. Maybe if I get a little help in getting up, even with my heart feeling like it's going to either implode or explode, I could keep going. Scratch that maybe. I have to. Katniss has to keep moving on, and I won't be responsible for holding her back. But before I can say anything, she kind of whips around in a crouch over me, like she's guarding me from him and snarls out that I have to rest.

I have to admit – the fact that she's protective over me, and I know this isn't an act, because those are real tears, really cuts me to the core. Somewhere along the road, she came to care for me. And that's really the most I could have asked for, isn't it?

Katniss blows her nose and Finnick doesn't disagree with her. I intend to, but not quite yet, because she catches a look at my locket, catching it in her hand and asking, "Is this your token?"

I hope she doesn't realize it's a locket yet – it's easy to overlook, as it's very thin – because it's not the right time, so I hope for the best as I answer, "Yes." And it's had a bit of a makeover in the Capitol – I had Portia use some of her heating gizmos and gadgets to engrave the mockingjay on it. Quickly changing topics, I say, "Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match."

She says that she doesn't mind, but the smile she gives me with gritted teeth is obviously fake. But I don't have the energy to dig farther into it. Whatever I do have needs to be used on getting up and walking. Finnick spins his trident in hand and asks, "So you want to make camp here, then?"

It's a statement like that that reminds me that Finnick is, as he was in his original Games, a Career. Careers are the ones who make camps when they settle in. I take a deep breath – a mistake because it hurts even more than the shallow ones I've been sticking with – before I answer, "I don't think that's an option, staying here." Before Katniss can disagree, I make my arguments, "With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really." … I don't think I made that convincing. And I know I couldn't really back it up when we actually do manage to get me up, so I add on, "If we could just go slowly."

Finnick agrees with me, and then reaches over and helps me up. The pain of being shifted is much less than I anticipated. Maybe it's because last year, after I got hurt, every slight movement killed. Now it's just… breathing and possibly walking that could cause pain. By the time I've tested out a few steps around, and realized that walking doesn't hurt ne necessarily, though it makes me light-headed, Katniss is prepared to move on, saying, "I'll take the lead."

I think of the danger it could cause – what if she runs into another tribute? A muttation? That force field? "Katniss, I don't think –"

Finnick quickly interrupts my disagreement by waving his hand at me, and lowering his brows in thought, "No, let her do it." And then he looks at her more closely, "You know that force field was there, didn't you?" I look between the two of them, confusion clouding my mind as Finnick goes on, "Right at the last second? You started to give a warning. How did you know?"

When she doesn't answer right away, I grow weary of what she's going to say, as she answers, "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen."

So we do. But there is no sound at all. I hear the suspicion in my own voice as I say, "I don't hear anything."

She insists that there's something there, but she is _too_ insistent, and I don't believe her. Especially when she makes a point of saying that that she can only hear it out of the ear that she had reconstructed after the last Hunger Games. I know that's a lie, especially when she says she can hear things like snow hitting the ground. There is no way that's the truth. I don't know why exactly she's lying about this. But if she's finding a good reason, a reason that is pushing her to construct a whole lie about her ear, then I'll go along with it.

We start walking – I can't make myself move any faster than small, baby steps, steps so small Mags is keeping a good pace with me. And even they wipe me out, taking away any remnants of energy I had maintained, and making my heart beat faster and faster with the exertion, which in turn just puts me in more pain.

Finnick notices this, and, using his strangely amazing skills, fashions both Mags and myself walking sticks within moments out of discarded branches laying around. The staff he makes me works, and I'm able to move at a slightly faster pace, with slightly less exertion. To focus on something other than how much pain I'm in and how much anxiety has found a home in my gut as Katniss is leading us around, I try to pick up the train of thought I was in before I was zapped.

It was something about Haymitch and Finnick and working together and rebels. But I don't quite remember what linked all the thoughts together for me. As the rest of my group stop to discuss how Mags has been eating some nuts we've found along the way, I can't keep myself focused on them. Where was my mind taking me before? And why?

I give Finnick a backwards glance as he does recon on the back of this group, and think – and is it valid? There's really no way I can find out. I can't very well just straight-up ask him, and even if I asked in hints and got answers in them, I don't think it would be safe. What if he just messes around with me? That wouldn't be good for Katniss at all, and, in the long run, it would just be useless.

We keep walking on and Katniss is really far ahead, as Mags and I both can't keep up with the pace she has. I'm trying to push myself to go as fast as possible, but it just really doesn't measure up to nearly what I was going at before. Finnick walks behind us, as he doesn't want neither Mags or I to take up the rear, and one look at him makes it even clearer to me how slow I am, despite the fact that my heart stings with my labored breath.

Katniss stops up ahead, and looks back at us. I know she's stopping to give me a break, but she doesn't say it. I'm just grateful to stop and try to slow how fast my heart is going – that can't be good. She says she's going to take another look from above, and before I can even ask her to be careful, she's gone out of view.

Finnick steps up behind me as we watch her climb, "How are you doing?"

Feeling like my heart's going to stop. Again. "Getting better."

He looks at me with a measuring look and says quietly, "I brought you back. I could have let you die and Katniss would never have even known that I knew a way to save you."

I turn to face him, the same thoughts I had earlier about speaking in code are now coming to light. "I suppose you just felt the need to keep me alive, though. No other reason than the goodness of you heart, right?"

He looks delighted that I've caught on, and says, "Absolutely. Not for Katniss or Haymitch or everyone else." And then he walks away, going over to Mags.

He's doing it for Katniss, keeping me safe. Per Haymitch's request. Maybe Haymitch told him that there was no way Katniss would forgive him if he let me die. And I can't ignore the fact that he said _every_one else, when, in a different conversation, one would have used the term _any_one. Everyone makes me think of everyone in the districts, who are watching us right now. Of course, that could just be me reaching to make sense of everything that's going on. Finnick could have nothing to do with what I think he has to do with.

Katniss climbs down the tree, landing on her feet right in front of me, and I put my attention on her rather than Finnick, as she says, "The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large."

As Finnick and Katniss discuss the fact that she didn't see any water that was drinkable, I try to think of why the Gamemakers put in so much effort to make this place so "symmetrical." Last year, and in all of the tapes that I remember, the tributes weren't put into such a confined space. And there was, mostly always, drinkable water to be had _somewhere_. As Katniss' words about how there's only saltwater ring in my ears, I frown. That just can't be right, "There must be some other source. Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days."

Even though Katniss' response to me is, "Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere." But I can hear in her voice that she doesn't believe what she's saying.

But I can't believe the Gamemakers put us all in here without any water. Never in the history of the Games have they done that. Apprehension eats at me – what if they decided to make these Games the quickest yet and just have us all stranded in his thick heat, dying of thirst. The last one to keel over from last of water wins. I'm already failing at keeping Katniss safe, having gone and got myself electrocuted within the first hour, but there is _nothing_ I can do to guard her against her own body's need for water.

It's that fear, that I won't be able to do anything to help her, that makes me insist, "There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel."

Which means, as we're at the force field now, we're going to have to head down away from it in the direction of the wheel. Where the Careers, I would assume, are still. Unless, hopefully, they've moved on, having the bloodbath over with.

I can see Katniss' reluctance to head back to the wheel, and apparently so can Finnick, who offers a middle ground. Literally. "Why don't we walk downhill for a hundred or so yards, and keep circling around?"

Katniss looks at me, and I can tell she's worried, but I don't want her to be concerned about me. Trying to give her the idea that I'm good to go, I pick up the staff Finnick made for me, and start walking. Within moments, Katniss has taken her position in the lead, and Finnick, once more, brings up the back.

While we walk, we don't run in to anyone, and I'm grateful. I wouldn't be much good at providing anything in a fight. Except perhaps an easy target for the other guys. The sun, even as shielded from it as we are under all the trees, practically broils us, and the more we walk, the more I know I won't be able to hold up for much longer. Not much longer at all, when I sweat so much that it drips into my eyes and I can hardly see, and every intake of breath gets worse and worse, starting to feel like there's a small dagger poking into my heart.

This time, when Katniss suggests we stop for the night, I can't disagree with her. I need to stop soon, or else I'll pass out, at the very least. And then I wouldn't be any good to anyone. I look around us, almost down to the middle of the slope now, and ask, "Here?"

Katniss shrugs, but Finnick disagrees, pointing up the slope with his trident, "We should head up there, back toward the force field. That way, if anyone comes looking for us, we can deflect them into it."

We're all in general agreement, and we make our way back up the hill. It takes about everything I have, and when we reach the place Finnick deems "good to camp" I fall to my butt on the ground in relief. Katniss walks around our perimeter, determining our safety, as Mags and Finnick both, in wordless unity, cut down some of the five-foot tall grass and weave it together. I don't know what exactly they'll be doing with them – maybe they're beds? – but I believe they'll be useful if both of them are working on it. Because I'm hungry and all of us will need to eat, I decide to gather the nuts laying around everywhere to make for, it nothing more, a snack.

At first I hesitate, because the last time I gathered something I thought was safe to eat, it ended up killing that girl from District Five. But Mags is still over there chomping down on a mouthful of these, just like she's been doing for hours, so they must be okay. Just to make sure, I fry them but throwing them against the force field. In case something like a parasite or the like was living inside of those nuts, they'll all be dead now.

I peel of the outer shells, and start to stack the nuts in a pile. By the time I've done all I can find in reach of me where I sit, I'm able to pull myself up to my knees and find more. From behind me, after a few minutes, Katniss says, "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around for some more water?"

Immediately, I turn around, "I don't think you should go. You could run in to anything – anyone – out there, especially if you're alone."

Finnick backs me up, "Yeah, I'm with Peeta on this one."

Mags just nods. Katniss, looking determined, responds, "I _could_ run in to some water. And we need it, especially in this heat – we're going to need it soon." She makes eye contact with me, "Don't worry, I won't go far."

I can see it in her eyes – she knows we need to be hydrated, and she's not going to back down. So I try to push myself to my feet, "I'll go, too."

"No," She says, and gestures to her bow, "I'm going to do some hunting if I can." She gives me a pointed look, that brings me back to our last Games when she wanted to hunt and I was with her. I was far too loud and I scared off the prey. Not to mention, me being so loud and unable to defend myself now could draw unwanted attention to her, and I wouldn't be of much help, either. So when she nods, and tell me, "I won't be long." I know I have no other thing to do but accept it.

She's going to be fine. I have no other choice but to believe it. Finnick steps up next to me after I spend the next few minutes staring out into the woods in the direction she went in and hands me a bowl that either he or Mags must have just made, "She'll be fine, she knows what she's doing. You should gather more nuts. Dinner time is coming."

So I do. Gradually, I accept the fact that she is experienced at hunting, and I go about filling the bowl Finnick gave me. By the time it's completely filled, Mags has weaved together two more, and as I fill them, Finnick constructs some sort of hut out of the grass mats he and Mags weaved. I stop what I'm doing and watch in fascination.

It takes him only moments to put it all together. A five foot tall miniature house, with three sides and an open front. I think I've seen worse put-together houses in the Seam than this. He claps off his hands, "Well, what do you think?"

I answer truthfully, "I'm impressed. Really impressed."

He waves his hand and does a bow, "Thank you, thank you. Hold the applause."

Mags and I both laugh, and I transport the bowls of food inside the hut, while Finnick transports Mags. Katniss returns with an animal that we decide would be safe to eat if cooked, and I come up with the idea to fry it against the force field. Finnick has questions about the animal, and asks them to Katniss while I prepare the cubed cooked meat in a few empty bowls, then call them to eat.

While the sun sets, none of us talk very much. Right now should be a happy time for me – we may not have any water yet and I may be injured, but Katniss and I are both alive, we're going to have a good meal, and we have a strong, smart ally. But I dread what's coming up in only a few minutes.

Earlier, eight cannons went off. Eight of the people I came to know, however briefly, in the last few days, are dead. None of us speak, because we all know what's about to happen when the Capitol seal shows up in the sky. I take Katniss' hand in mine, thinking of how, before we went in front of the Gamemakers, we discusses who it would be difficult for us to see these people meet their ends.

I also offer my hand to Mags, who is on the other side of me. Because, if I'm attached to these people and I've known them for only days, she has known all of them since they've all won their own Hunger Games. For someone like Woof, she's known him for most of her life. Even if it's Johanna, they've still known each other for four years.

Depression is as oppressing as the thick heat while the faces start to appear. Leon from Five, I saw Finnick kill him on the beach. The male morphling from Six, Kaver was his name. I wonder how the female morphling, Ami, is doing. Where she is. They were both inseparable, starting at the first day, always together. Seeing Woof in the sky next doesn't surprise me, but when Cecelia's face appears, I have to shut my eyes for a few seconds.

I remember seeing her standing on her plate next to me, unable to swim. She didn't have someone like Finnick to swim over and get her. What if she was forced to stand on her plate until the Careers came to target her like a sitting duck? I can't handle the thought, so I try to push her smiling face out of my mind, and by the time I reopen my eyes, the pair from nine, Duke and Jacy, who never came down for training, who I never talked to, appear. Followed by Chrissy from Ten, who also never came down for training, but all three of them still were all in the line of us last night, holding hands as one. Seeder from Eleven finishes it up, and I shake my head. She must have fought.

And now Chaff is probably out there by himself. I like Chaff. If we were to have allies, I would have thought Haymitch would put Chaff with us without hesitation. They were friends, after all. But I guess not.

My breathing is heavy, and there are tears that want to fall, but I swallow them, even though it makes it harder to breathe, with that and the heart pains. Be strong. Focus on the win. Don't think of them as eight people you knew and could relate to. Think of them as eight people already gone, and only fifteen others left to die before Katniss is completely safe.

As I calm myself down, a small parachute falls in front of us. I think of last year, how, when Haymitch sent us something in a parachute, we both eagerly sought to see what it is. I don't know what it is, but all of us just seem to stare at it. Finally, Katniss asks, "Whose is it, do you think?"

Finnick answers her, "No telling. Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?"

If Katniss wasn't standing here, worried about me, I would just tell someone else that they could get it. But I know if I declined, she would probably know it wasn't because I'm just being nice. It would tip her off as to how much pain I'm really in, and I don't want that, so I slowly, but as fast as I can, kneel down and untie the cord, flattening out the circle of silk with care.

I have no idea what the thing is.

A metal tube, thinning and pointing a bit at one end, and the other end has a small lip that arches downward slightly. When I look at the puzzled faces of everyone else, I don't think they know what it is any better than I do. Hmm. It kind of looks like an instrument, maybe, so I pick it up and blow on one end. Nothing comes out.

That being the only idea that came to mind, I pass it on to Finnick. His brows are drawn in confusion just like mine, as he tries to slip it on any of his fingers. It only fits the pinkie, and he swings his hand around with it, then shakes his head and slides it off, saying, "Well, it's not a weapon."

Katniss slowly asks, "Can you fish with it, Mags?"

Maybe that's it. After all, can't Mags fish with practically anything? But as Finnick holds it out for her, all she does is shake her head. It's Katniss' turn with it, and we all turn to look at her, while she rolls is on her palm. It has to have a purpose. Haymitch wouldn't have sent it to us if no one knew how to use it or what it was. It has to be Katniss – she does know the most about survival, anyway.

Okay, maybe not with Finnick here. Then again, he has never had to want for anything or work terribly hard to survive, like she has. While she has it in her hands, she sinks down to sit in the ground, and I walk into the hut, sitting down behind her, hoping she can use whatever the little thing is. But she pushes it into the dirt in anger after a little bit and says, "I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out."

Maybe. But we really can't count on that, not here, in the arena in the jungle. When Katniss lays down and just glares at the metal tub in aggravation, I know this is one of those times where she needs to be brightened, to get her hopes up. So I scoot over, rubbing at my chest briefly, as if trying to tell my heart to not give out on me, especially not now, when Katniss still needs me.

I reach down and find a spot between her shoulders that is tight and I give that the same little massage I just gave my chest. When I feel her take a deep breath and let go of some of her tension, I know it worked better for her than it did for me. Eventually, when Katniss closes her eyes and my hand gets tired, I let myself lie down next to her. Both Finnick and Mags are also resting, and as I lower myself onto my back it – ahhhh. It feels so nice to just be lying down, and I've just wanted to do this all day after I got zapped.

Not walking or gathering or eating or even sitting. Just laying here, letting my heart rest, everything feels better. Calmer. My mind just starts to drift when I feel Katniss sit up quickly. I open my eyes and force myself to sit up as well, fear pumping into me until she picks up the piece of metal and declares, "A spile!"

She explains what it is, how you put it in a tree and usually get sap to come out. But here, water comes out. That's Katniss for you – being brilliant and figuring out how to save all of our butts. If she can do that, I push myself to at least get up and help drive it into the tree, until we're all drinking to our hearts' content. It's things like this that just remind me what a survivor she is, and why she needs to go on and survive. To be able to save other people, the way she saved us in here, and saves her family at home.

But after we've all sated our thirst, I think we're all tired. I want to offer to stay up and help one of them keep watch – I know I can't do it by myself, but my mind and body are already working in unison and the moment I'm horizontal on the floor, my eyes are closed and I'm out.

* * *

**After this is posted there will only be two more weeks of Burned left! Sorry, I just realized that. Anyway.**

**Once again, I just wanted to thank everyone who reviews, it's very much appreciated.**


	22. Acid Rain and Monkeys

The next thing I know, Katniss' voice comes from above me, screaming with urgency, "Run! Run!"

Before I even have my eyes properly open, Mags and Finnick are taking off into the trees, and Katniss is leaning over me, and it's adrenaline that gives me enough strength to stand. While I slept, the pains in my heart got less sharp, but my body is more disoriented and lethargic. By the time I'm on my feet, Katniss is pulling me to run with her, trying to catch up to Finnick. I wonder if my voice is as puzzled as I feel, when I ask, "What is it? What is it?"

She's feet in front of me when she yells over her shoulder, "Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!"

I'm trying to. Giving myself only a moment to look over my shoulder, that glimpse is enough. The fog is like an entity, coming toward us full throttle, chasing us. And it's moving a lot faster than I could hope to.

Feeling dazed, I just try to put one foot in front of the other. But it's dark, and I don't have my staff, and every time I take a step, I stumble and trip over the undergrowth of bushes and trees and vines. I don't even have to look at the fog to know that it's gaining on me. My legs already feel like they're going to give out, and I can't move any faster, as much as my mind is telling me to.

And I don't have to look over my shoulder to see that the fog is gaining on us. I can feel it, the flecks of it hitting my back, burning. All the while, Katniss is staying by my side, even when I know she could go much faster. _Go without me_, I want to form the words, but it's far too difficult for me to speak at the same time as concentrate on moving my feet.

Worry for her slashes through me, and I'm terrified that she's not going to get out of this to escape the fog as long as she stays with me. Why doesn't she just do what she did last year when we were in a similar situation? When I was injured, she ran and saved herself before helping me. I don't want her to do anything differently.

The vaporous fog jumps out and hits my back, and I know it's hitting hers, too, when she grabs my hand and orders me, "Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step."

I try, I do, spurred to keep going on when I really know she she's not going to get out of here unless I do. But I think there's something more to this fog than just the burning sensation, because the more it hits me, the more my arms become less of tools while I run, and more just hang loosely at my sides. I can't control them.

Then my real leg starts tingling and I can't stop it from slamming into my artificial one, which knocks it into a loop of vines on the ground. I fall face first, unable to use my arms to stop me. Terror slides in as I feel the fog burn slowly up my legs, infecting me more and more and I can feel Katniss not leaving me, and I want to tell her to, when everything just goes blank.

I'm still conscious, still aware of feeling, dimly, but my nerves are tingling in my face and I can't see out of one eye. I don't know what's happening, but it's frightening, which only multiplies when Katniss looks at me in fright and says, "Peeta –" but then she stops and I don't know why but I know that she needs to _go_.

When I feel her pulling and pulling at my arm, whatever I have left inside of me screams at my brain to get up and run, for her. To get her out of here. Katniss. Katniss is the only thing I can think of, because everything else just seems too fuzzy. I'm faintly aware as she manages to pull me up and get me going, but even though I feel like I'm sprinting, I must be going slowly.

I don't really know what happens, but suddenly I'm scooped up and moving a lot faster. It takes me a long time to realize that it's Finnick who's carrying me, having me draped up on his back. Down we go, running and running and it's kind of like I'm on a ride. A deadly ride. I can hear Finnick's breath huffing in and out and while we run the fog catches up, coming closer and closer, and both of us are getting stung with it.

I'm sure Katniss is, too, but I can't see her. No matter how much my muddled brain tells my neck to move and look at her, to check on her, my neck won't listen. None of my muscles and nerves will cooperate. In my ear, I hear Finnick's voice, "Peeta, you need to hold onto my trident. It's slipping."

He presses it jerkily into my hand and closes my fingers around it. He is carrying me, it's only fair I carry his trident. The only reason he's going slow enough to be caught up in this mess is because of me, after all. I have just enough willpower to keep my fist closed around the handle.

The more we run, the most I'm only aware of Finnick's jagged breaths, which I hear with my face smooshed against his back and my hope that Katniss is right with us. Even when we stop for some reason, I can't even understand what's going on. I don't know what happened, but I think I hear a cannon sound, maybe, then we're running again, and I can feel Finnick's breathing become more erratic, and we keep going and going.

It couldn't have been a cannon, right? Because I'm still alive and so is Finnick, and I can't believe he would just keep us moving on if Katniss or Mags died. I have to believe that, because with this shower of acid fog, there's nothing else I can do. Moving and moving, keep on going and going, Finnick running and running.

Until we suddenly stop. He falls down and I go with him, throwing his trident with all my might so neither of us lands on it, and I'm pretty sure it only lands a foot away. He lands on his stomach, face first into the sand, and I lay across his back still, also with my face pushed into the sand.

Katniss? Agony tears through my body, with the inner pain now matching the outer pain, but I struggle to look around, trying to find her.

Oof. No need to look any farther. She's right here, falling on top of my back. Okay. We're all here. We're all alive. In pain, but alive. Finnick groans, and Katniss pulls herself off of us, flopping on the ground below. Beneath me, I feel his back not only pull in air, but also shake a bit. The breaths he takes in are broken, but I don't know why.

From beside me, I hear Katniss say something, but it's jumbled together and I don't understand what it is. Then she repeats: "It's stopped."

I've regained enough control over myself to turn my head toward the direction we came from, and see that she's right. The fog seems to be lifting up into the sky, pulled up by some invisible force. While it goes, I take several deep breaths, then summon up all my strength and roll off of Finnick's back, landing between him and Katniss.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the landing takes the air out of my lungs, then slowly open my eyes. Which brings a whole new fear. There are creatures staring back at me from up in the trees. Two of them, about three feet tall, I'd say, and covered in orange fur. I've never seen them up close, but I remember seeing them in several of the Hunger Games tapes. Monkeys. But when I try to say it out loud, it comes out as, "Mon-hees." I couldn't feel it before, but now I have the sensation that my face isn't as it should be. Only one of my eyes is open all the way, and my mouth… it's not right. I feel lopsided, but I can't change it.

The ones in the tapes I saw were vicious; attacking every person they saw. But these two just seem to watch, and I slowly relax. It's not too long after the monkey's appearance that I realize I'm able to move my legs. And my arms. It's not much, but it is mobility. I look at Katniss, who's lying to my left, then Finnick on my right… but where's Mags? And then I think of the sudden stop while we were running, and the cannon. Finnick's jagged and broken breaths, that I now realize was crying.

Grief settles over me now, when I realize that I don't know exactly how it happened, but somewhere on that run for our lives, Mags didn't make it. And it was my fault. Because if I hadn't needed that extra help from Finnick, he could've kept carrying Mags with us. She wouldn't be dead.

Sucking in a few deep breaths and squeezing my eyes shut, I silently wish her peace and force myself to think _you knew this was coming. Mags couldn't live if you wanted Katniss to survive_. But it still makes me feel miserable. And Finnick… they were close, anyone could see that.

Laying here feeling sorry won't help anyone, and Mags wouldn't have wanted it. She was never unhappy, and, I feel like crap for thinking it, but she couldn't have thought she was going to survive in the arena, right? I mean… she had trouble talking and walking under normal circumstances. She volunteered for a hysterical woman in her district – she knew what that meant.

I wonder if, while all of us are crippled with this pain, something else – more arena Gamemakers planned things, or muttations, or even the other tributes who might still be lurking around – will attack. None of us will be able to fight back. Katniss would surely be one of their first targets, Gamemaker or tribute. It's that thought that drives me to push myself to my knees, then fall forward onto my hands and crawl.

Down the rest of the slope, toward the water. Because last year, in that arena, I was pretty sure the water helped me fight off some of the tracker jacker venom. I can only hope this water can do something like that and more. Soon, Katniss is joining me in the crawl, and we're both only feet away from the waves, and as soon as possible, I fall to my stomach, as does Katniss, and the water rises up to brush our faces.

And it hurts. But I know what this kind of sting means, even though Katniss pulls away from it. This is the kind of sting I used to get when I was younger and my father would clean up my cuts with peroxide. We got a bottle of it every other year, and my mom used to yell at my father to save it for big things so we wouldn't have to go to the doctors and blow basically all of the money we had.

But he used to give it to us for small things, like burns or scratches. This is worse than that was, the sting makes my eyes water, but I can live with it. I make myself hold my head there, letting the water draw the pain from the fog out of my cuts. Seeing Katniss strip off what's left of her jumpsuit, I do the same and then we both dip every inch of our bodies into the water, slowly, and it takes out the torturous pain the fog left us with.

"Finnick," she says to me, and nods in his direction before standing to help him.

I feel well enough now, that I would be able to stand and hobble around to help her. My body feels exactly the way it did before the fog. Meaning, not very well after running into the force field, but not like the pain was going to kill me. But maybe, since the water drew out that other pain, the more surface-area pain, maybe it can help with the stiffness and ache I've had since earlier.

Testing it out while Katniss scoops out handfuls of the water to help Finnick, I slide both my legs into the water and hold them there. After a while of constant immersion, they _do_ start to feel better. I can kick them in the water without feeling immediately exhausted. Okay. Time to help Katniss help Finnick.

We both carry handfuls to put on his skin, watching as the water draws out the infection. He just lays there. Not surprising, either. I'm not exactly as small as Mags is, who her can carry around without a problem, and he ran for a long time with me. Then there's the added "bonus" of the fog and all of his stings, plus the emotional anguish he must be experiencing now as well. No. He's not moving anywhere on his own right now.

Seeing that he needs more than we can transport to him, we both grab one of his feet and we pull him down to the shore. Without words, Katniss and I both work together, lowering him a little bit at a time into the water. Just enough to take away the pain, bit by bit, without giving him too much to handle.

When he's submerged, both Katniss and I are as well, and the water starts drawing out the older pain. My heart beat, I feel it as it goes to a normal pace, and in the past hours, I've forgotten what it feels like to breathe without any pain harboring me with every breath. When I look up at Katniss to give her a real smile as Finnick is able to move around in the water on his own, I feel my face becoming normal, too. When I grin, my lip doesn't hang down like it did before, and I have a full visual of her face.

Now that his body is taken care of, it's just his head to go. I say as much, adding on, "That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it." I phrase it this way on purpose, hoping he'll give me a classic Finnick cocky smile, maybe a crack about how of course he can bear it.

He doesn't though, and just dunks his head. But when he comes back up, he lets go of both Katniss and myself and starts to go under himself. Relief trickles through me – now, we are really all right. All of us.

Katniss pulls herself out of the water and I follow suit. She finds the spile on her belt and tells me, "I'm going to try to tap a tree."

I look around; now that I'm strong enough to actually swing a knife, fight, and run, I'd rather check out what's going on around us before she does. I reach out and stop her, finding my knife tucked into my recently shucked off jumpsuit and gripping the handle, "Let me make the hole first," I request. Then I look toward Finnick, who's still soaking in the water and add, "You stay with him. You're the healer."

She gives me a look that clearly says _Yeah, right_, but even if she doesn't really help her mother out as much as I thought she did when she was with me in the arena last year, even if Prim is technically the more gifted healer of the two sisters, Katniss is still good at it too. Even if she doubts it. I mean, last year my leg was going to kill me, before we got an antidote, but she had nothing to do with that. She was the one who came along and helped me, she took pus out of my leg, got the swelling down.

Besides, I don't think Finnick needs that much healing now, anyway. When I see that she's letting me go and start the hole in the tree for her, I pick one not very far away, and walk over to it, getting to work after I look around and don't see any of the other tributes, especially not the Careers, still lurking around. I guess if they were, they wouldn't have just sat idly by while us three – their top competition – were too weak to move.

I drive my knife repeatedly in the trunk, glad that – for basically the first time today – I'm not useless. And while I do, I think about what Finnick did for us. Carrying me, keeping Katniss alive. Haymitch really knew what he was doing when he picked him out. But his actions also make me that much more suspicious of he and Haymitch's plan. I mean, he sacrificed Mags for us to live. I can't believe he would have done that without believing in some greater good coming from it.

Or there's that whole thing where I could be reading in to everything. Maybe Finnick allowed Mags to die because he knew she wouldn't be surviving, either, and he also knew that he couldn't kill her. That's entirely possible. In fact, the logical part of my mind tells me that that's _more_ plausible than this whole rebellion idea I have. Besides, since when has Haymitch ever showed any interest in encouraging the rebellion, anyway?

Katniss voice reaches me, taking me out of my back-and-forth thoughts, "Peeta, I need your help with something."

Strange. Maybe something's happened with Finnick. Then again, I don't hear anything coming from the water, and I heard him just a minute ago. They were both fine. "Okay, just a minute," I call back, digging into the tree trunk again with my knife. The hole is almost big enough, "I think I've just about got it." One more dig into the tree, and it's perfect, "Yes, there." Now all we need is the spile, and I ask her if she has it ready.

"I do. But we've found something you'd better take a look at. Only move toward us quietly, so you don't startle it." She says to me, and the forced easy-going tone she's using lets me know that something isn't right.

But it also means whatever isn't going so well would be alerted by me if I made sudden movements or maybe even if I used the wrong tone of voice. Keeping mine in the same casual tone as hers, I say, "Okay."

I start making my way toward them, trying to be soundless. Katniss always says that I'm terrible at being quiet, but I think I'm doing a pretty good job. Confused when I see nothing directly facing Katniss and Finnick, who I can see from feet away are both tense and anxious, I try to discreetly look around. Nothing to their left. Nothing to their right. And there's complete silence, but I get the feeling that I'm being watched, and the only other place can be from above.

Careful not to move my head and only my eyes, I look upward. Big mistake, because I released a floodgate. The same monkeys I saw earlier, only these once are vicious like real muttations are, start to attack. Jumping for us, running at us, sliding toward us, I sprint to reach Finnick and Katniss, and we all instinctively form a triangle to fight in, so all of our backs are covered and we only have to fight the ones coming directly at us.

Yeah, _only_ those ones. Choice use of words, Peeta, you dummy. Despite the fact that we make a good team, Katniss with her bow and arrows, Finnick with his trident, and, surprisingly, me with my knife, guilt still swamps me. If I didn't look up, we would have been fine. If I didn't look up, Katniss wouldn't be fighting for her life, and if I didn't look up, neither would Finnick and I.

But it's too late for apologies now. Too late, because these monkeys – huge things with more strength than I had thought and abnormally large, sharp teeth – are attacking and if I want to be any help to Katniss or Finnick, I have to take out as many as possible. I slice my knife through one of them and throw it into another, both of them topple over and don't move. I take care of three more when Katniss calls out, "Peeta! Your arrows!"

Confused – because why would she be telling me to use my arrows to attack rather than my knife? – I turn to look at Katniss and see that she's now working with a knife, too, _because_ she's out of arrows. And she needs mine. Despite the incoming monkeys, I reach up to slide off my sheath to give to her, because I can't leave her with anything less than her best defense in combat, when Katniss' eyes widen.

I turn to look where she's looking and I see a monkey lunging straight for me. My heart kicks into overdrive, and I can't get my knife ready because the sheath of arrows is halfway down my arm and restricting my movement. Looking at the thing with wide eyes, I realize: This is it.

This is how I'll die, because I can't survive those fangs and I know it. At least Katniss is still alive, with a strong ally who seems intent on protecting her. The only thing more I could have asked for was if I had been her last competitor, because then I would have been assured of her life. The monkey accelerates toward me and I take a deep breath preparing myself –

But it's pointless. Because Ami, the woman from Six, the female morphling, jumps in front of me and takes the impact.

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	23. Morphlings and Allies

I watch in horror as the monkey sinks it's fangs into Ami's chest, and they both fall to the ground. I can see Ami shaking and jerking against the sand, see her hands as they weakly try to beat the thing off of her, and as fast as I can, I throw the sheath of arrows to the side and jump forward, digging my knife into the monkey's back.

But it's not enough, and as I see Ami growing less and less active in her fight against the monkey, I grow desperate and just keep stabbing and stabbing, screaming, "Come on, then! Come on!" Don't let her die because of me.

And then it pulls it's fangs out of her chest, and it looks at us, backing away. For good measure, I kick it, but it doesn't even seem to need any encouragement as it now goes back up a tree, bleeding. Katniss tells me, "Get her. We'll cover you."

But I'm already going, lifting her into my arms and running her to the healing balm of the water. She's so light, and that has to be from the years of her morphling use. As gently as I can, I lay her on the sand, right next to the waves, to let Katniss cut away what's left of her jumpsuit, and we see the injury she has. The injury she took because of me, as she gasps for air on the beach.

And I know, those wounds were fatal. They were meant for me, and even though I came in here, knowing she was going to have to die for Katniss to live, I never thought the responsibility of her death would be on me. Once more, I feel like crying. I knew her more than I knew Mags. We had had conversations, at the camouflage station in the Training Center. She loved art, and so do I, and now she's here, gripping my hand and dying, because she jumped in front of me.

I hold hers back, letting her know that I am here, and I'm not going anywhere. When her eyes roam around the sky above, not having anywhere to look, I have a terrible recollection of the other girl who's hand I held as she died in the Hunger Games, last year. But they're terrible in different ways. That girl last year was the first dead person I ever saw. Ami… it's _my fault_ she's like this now.

I reach up to stroke her hair, and her eyes fall to me. Looking for comfort in her last few moments, and the only thing I know that can give her true comfort – not like morphling would, if I had any of that stuff – is art. So I start, visualizing my own art, "With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable." I can see it now, in my mind's eye, all the colors, "Pink. As pale as a baby's skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water."

Her eyes hold onto mine, and I know I'm painting her a picture in her dying mind. In the past days, I've never seen her eyes so clear, and even though she's near sixty, I feel like I'm staring at a child. She just needs some guidance to get to where she needs to be. To find her peace, and I'm determined to give her that, if nothing else.

"One time, I spent three days mixing paint until I found the right shade for sunlight on white fur." I can remember the painting vividly, my frustration at not being able to get it quite right, "You see, I kept thinking it was yellow, but it was much more than that. Layers of all sorts of color. One by one."

She's no longer gasping, her breathing coming slower, and somehow, I know that's worse. Her hand lets go of mine, and when I let go, she lets it fall to her chest, and then makes the swirling motion with a few of her fingers in her blood, and I recognize it – that was her favorite technique when she would paint with the dyes at the Training Center. She's going to paint something before she dies, and I know it.

But I keep going, remembering how she painted a beautiful rainbow on her district partner – Kaver's – back. It was perfect, and I marveled at how she managed to achieve it. Sticking with that memory, I keep talking to her, "I haven't figured out a rainbow yet. They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away. Back into the air." I can say this to her because she understands – when you paint, it's not just about know the colors of the rainbow, it's about capturing the moment, the feeling, the freeness of it.

The hand that is smeared in her last paint – her blood, reaches up to my face. Her quivering hand touches my cheek lightly, and makes her swirling motions on my face, and I close my eyes, letting an artist do her work. When she drops her hand, I look her right in the eye and whisper, "Thank you. That looks beautiful."

Because even though I can't see it, there's no better praise an artist wants to hear about their work, and she's dying right here and now, and she looks at me like I just gave her the world, and then she dies. Her canon shoots off, and Katniss lets go of her hand and says, "I can –"

I know what she's about to offer, but I cradle Ami and lift her, telling Katniss, "No, I'll do it." Walking into the water, I wade in, talking to her body as I go, "Thank you. I don't know why you did what you did. But thank you."

Wading in to just about my waist, I dip slightly and lay her on the surface of the water to be taken away and picked up by the Capitol, "You weren't just the morphling from District Six to me, Ami."

I wish I had said that before she died, and as she gets washed away, I wipe at my face, splashing myself with water to wash away any tears that may have fallen, and take a deep breath to compose myself as I walk back to shore and sit on the sand. As Finnick comes back and they talk, I wonder what Ami could have been without the Hunger Games. Without the need for morphling to get through the day. Maybe she would have been a real artist. Maybe she would have been Ami to everyone, rather than the morphling.

Maybe. And maybe Haymitch would be clean too, and maybe he'd be actually happy. Maybe the people in District Twelve and the ones I saw in the other districts don't have to be starving and dying and angry and sad. Maybe the rebellion can come and make a difference. And maybe my reason for keeping Katniss alive has been selfish, because I've been wanting her to go on and live her life and find happiness and love, but I should have also looked at the bigger picture.

Like I told Lucern: I could look at the bigger picture, and that made me a more self-aware man. But wouldn't that also include me being able to think about the good of the other districts, the good of everyone living in squalor in Panem? That's exactly what it does mean, and my resolution that Katniss needs to live becomes that much stronger.

She deserves a life that isn't plagued with the Games and death at seventeen, and just as much as that, all the people in the districts deserve to have their hope. And I'll die giving it to them. With that in mind, I look out into the water and become aware of the itching. Every place where the fog got me, where the water drew out the poison, is begging to be scratched.

It's all over me, and I look at Finnick, who's already scratching his face with vigor. Good idea. I follow suit and it feels so good, and then Katniss, sitting next to me scolds, "Don't scratch. You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try for the water again?"

Even though I know it's a distraction trick, it's a good one, and I'm grateful for it. Pushing myself to my feet, I say, "I completely forgot about that." About before the monkeys attacked, before Ami died, I had made a hole for the spile to get out water for us. While we walk back to the tree, Katniss hands me the spile to use and she and Finnick both guard me with their weapons while I work it into the tree.

My throat is dry, and I'm parched, and so are the others, and we all spend a good long while getting a fair share to drink. While Finnick runs some of this water over where he's itchy, I eye the water and how far away we'll be on the beach. It just wouldn't be practical to keep walking back and forth whenever one of us needs a drink so I ask Katniss to keep an eye out for me, even though I doubt anything will happen, as I go back to the sand and scour for a few minutes until I have found three good, whole shells to fill for each of us.

When I bring them back, we all fill the shells, and walk back to the beach. This isn't so bad, right? People have died, as I knew they would, and it's been difficult. But since the bloodbath, two more have died, which leaves twelve left to do, and it hasn't even been a full day. We have water and, though we're itchy, we've found a way to good health.

We get to the place we were sitting in the sand earlier and stop, deciding to stay here for the remainder of the night. It can only be a few hours until morning, anyway. Before any of us sits, Katniss says, "Why don't you two get some rest? I'll watch for a while."

But Finnick steps up, "No, Katniss, I'd rather." He looks at her briefly, then at me, and then out at the sea, and takes another of those ragged breaths, and I know he has Mags on his mind. Katniss must realize this as well, and she concedes giving him the watch for the next few hours.

I give her hand an encouraging squeeze, and gently urge her to lie down on the sand next to me. I'm tired. It feels like it's been a lifetime since Katniss woke me up and we ran from the fog, but I know it's only been two hours at most. Like back in the hut, almost at once, I drift off.

For once, I have a happy dream. For one of the very few times in over a year, I sleep without a nightmare or no dreams at all. In it, I'm surrounded by people. People I don't know, but ones who I know are from the other districts, surround me. Katniss stands above everyone, smiling, proud. And there's just… peace.

Her voice is in my ear, whispering, "Peeta. Peeta, wake up." And as my eyes open, I expect to see her the way she was in my dream, standing in glory.

What I don't expect is to see her face along with Finnick Odair's no more than three inches away, covered in this gray-green goo, and I automatically let out a shout, jumping from the spot I've slept in for hours. They both fall to the sand and laugh, and I look at them in disdain for one moment, which makes them crack up more. Playing it back in my head, I can see the humor in it, and I want to smile and laugh along with them.

But I don't, because the more I give them looks of scorn, as noticeably fake as they are, they both laugh and laugh. And being here, in the arena, moments of laughter come so few and far between, I want this good time to last for as long as possible, so I drag it out for minutes, and I wonder if Luc is laughing back home. I hope he is. I hope my family can see that I'm not scared and that it's okay to laugh when good things are happening, even to me in the Games.

Finally, when they both calm down, and I can't keep this scowl on my face any longer, as I get up on my knees and sort of waddle over to them, a parachute falls down. Last year, Haymitch sent us food when we did things right. I had thought back then that it was a congratulations to me that Katniss loved me, but I had learned since then that it was a pat on the back to Katniss, for faking that she was in love with me.

Either way, it was a reward. I wonder what this is a reward for. When Finnick unties the parachute, he reveals a loaf of bread. Even without my vast knowledge of the grain, I would know it's from District Four. So Haymitch is maybe sending a message about him? A pat on the back for having trusted him, maybe? Or maybe it's something entirely different. I've never really proven myself in terms of reading Haymitch's package-sent messages.

Apparently, Finnick can see a message in it, and I think maybe the message isn't from Haymitch after all, maybe it's from _his_ mentor? That would make sense. Or… maybe it is from Haymitch, and Finnick is reading a message that neither Katniss nor I know about.

A small voice in my head sounds, _Peeta, shut up about that whole Finnick and Haymitch in cahoots thing. It's crazy_.

But as Finnick examines the grain closely, I think, maybe it's not so crazy. Either way, he sets it down back onto the silk it came from and remarks, "This will go well with the shellfish."

Shellfish? What shellfish? And what on earth have they both got all over their skin? I ask Katniss, and she looks at me as if she completely forgot she had it on, "Oh. Haymitch sent it this morning. It makes us look creepy and disgusting, but it takes the itch right out. Come on."

She leads me a few feet away and globs some of the stuff on her hand, then gives me the bottle, "Put it on yourself, wherever you itch. I'll get your back."

I quickly rub it in, as she does, and the relief I feel from all this itching is instantaneous and superb, and almost distracts me completely from the feeling of her hands on my bare skin. And almost as quickly as they were there, they're gone, and we eat a meal of, as Finnick calls it, shellfish with his bread.

I've never had shellfish. Not a huge fan of the fish, but that could be because we don't have any of it in District Twelve and I'm just not used to it. Either way, beggars can't be choosers when it comes to food, especially here. While we eat, I watch as a humongous wave rises up from the other side of the water, and splashes on the hill, bringing a death and a canon with it.

I don't know who it was, but just more death is too much to handle, and the shellfish tastes disgusting in my mouth. Wondering who it was, I set aside the rest of the food I had intended to eat, not able to stomach it anymore. We all stand when we see the aftershock of the wave come back down to the water here, and it starts lifting things away: the mats and bowls Finnick made, the discarded weapons none of us were holding on to.

Splashing forward, I reach out as the waves start to take the items away, and Finnick grabs whatever I can't. Turning back to Katniss I say, "I think we got it all."

She gestures at the water that's rapidly receding and then at all of us in our underclothes, "The jumpsuits got away. Not like they were any help with anything, anyhow."

"True," I say, and lay everything I caught back on the sand, letting it dry out in the still blazing hot sun.

I'm leaning down to take a seat again, when Katniss nudges me and Finnick, whispering, "There."

What? I look up and follow her gaze, and see three people coming onto the beach. From where we are, there are three figures on the opposite way as us, walking out onto the sand. What should we do? Should we prepare to fight? But what if it's muttations again, and they're too much to handle?

Finnick already seems to know what to do, and leads us back into the jungle, blending into the trees. I squint, trying to see better, as the three figures walk out onto the sand, "Who is that?" I ask. At first I think they're human, but the better I can see, the more I think maybe I was wrong. They're all solid red, the exact color I would use when making a rainbow, "Or what? Muttations?"

Thinking of the monkeys, I get a good hold on my knife, and prepare myself, just as Katniss draws an arrow. Narrowing my eyes, I think that they are pretty strange mutts. Mutts always know who they're supposed to attack, and where they are. These things are pretty poor mutts, as one of them is harbored, dragging the other along, and a third just makes crazy circles. I'm becoming less convinced of their nun-human status, despite their color, when Finnick drops his trident down to his side and makes a break for them, yelling in welcome, "Johanna!"

And so it is, I realize, as she replies to Finnick. I look at Katniss, to see how she feels about all this. If I recall correctly, she doesn't exactly like Johanna. And I can see that she's not thrilled that Johanna's made an appearance, nor that Finnick is greeting her warmly, and she asks me, "What now?"

I wonder if she thinks it's time we split with him, but I know we can't. Not when Haymitch was so adamant that we be his ally, going so far as to go behind our backs to ensure we stayed with him. Plus, thinking of all he's done for us, for Katniss, not to mention the fact that I don't really mind Johanna at all. Actually, I kind of like her. She's funny, she's sarcastic, she's crude, and there's something about her that I like. I figure Katniss wouldn't want to hear the fact that I like someone she clearly doesn't, so I just say, "We can't really leave Finnick."

She grumpily agrees, and her pouting tone, the one she does whenever she's begrudgingly unhappy, is adorable, and it makes me want to smile. But then we'd get into that whole 'you're-laughing-at-me' even when I'm really not thing. So I keep the smile hidden, and Katniss' confused voice tells me as we draw closer to the group, "She's got Wiress and Beetee."

"Nuts and Volts?" I can hear the surprise in my own voice. Johanna really didn't like them, and she was very vocal about how strange she thought they were at training. When she told me about how Katniss was spending time with them, she thought it was one of the most hilarious things going on. "I've got to hear how this happened."

But when we reach them and I hear Johanna's story – she's had her own horror story in the jungle, including a death in her group, for us it was Mags, for her it was Blight, and a rain storm of blood. What we _don't_ hear is the reason she's been clearly leading about Nuts and Volts. Especially when her comments and actions toward them show her distaste for them, like when she shoves Wiress to the ground, which makes Katniss angry, and she advances toward Johanna, telling her to lay off Wiress.

When Johanna narrows her eyes and makes the same advances toward Katniss, I don't think much of it, until she slaps her, and then I start toward them. Because as much as I do like Johanna, she's not going to get away with slapping Katniss, no way, no how.

Except, what she says following the slap makes me stumble in my steps: "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you?" And then Finnick is there, pulling her away before she can say anything else.

That means that I'm not paranoid, right? Because… what if Johanna is in with Finnick and Haymitch's plan? Maybe Haymitch knew we'd accept Finnick and Mags, but that Katniss wouldn't take Johanna on unless Johanna could prove herself to Katniss. I keep walking toward Katniss, now more convinced that I wasn't just imagining things about Haymitch and Finnick having a larger plan, when Katniss asks me, "What did she mean? She got them for me?"

But I can't just tell her what I'm thinking of, the possibilities there are. Not while we're being watched by the Capitol, at the hands of the Gamemakers' mercy. So I shrug and just tell her, "I don't know. You did want them originally."

She agrees, though seemingly unsatisfied with the answer, then looks down at Beetee and says, "But I won't have them for long unless we do something."

I follow her gaze, and she's right. For some reason, when Johanna told me before that there was that rain of blood, I just thought that Beetee's blood coverage was just about the jungle. But now I can see that he's really in pain. I wish I had paid more attention to Johanna's story, rather than just thinking about the why's.

Bending down, I pull him up. He's a small guy and pretty light, and I can feel warm blood – real blood, his blood – seep onto my arm through his suit. He has to live, even though he's shaking right now and he has his eyes closed. His breath is coming pretty strongly, though, and … we had to live.

We take him to the water, and we work in sync without needing to talk about it first. Together, we take off his jumpsuit, and it becomes clear that he won't be able to stay in his underclothes like Katniss, Finnick and myself were. Everything he has is completely soaked with blood, and it's going to have to all come off if we want to help with his back injury. Katniss seems to be in clinical mode, though, and she doesn't seem bothered in the least by having to help Beetee while he's naked.

Looking at his wound, I'm really not sure of what to do. The only time I ever had to deal with blood and cuts and injuries was last year in the arena. When I had to take charge of my own leg, I dragged it through mud and rocks and nearly died of blood poisoning. The only thing I ever did right in terms of caretaking was when Katniss had her head injury, but I was nervous and panicked, and even then, I had a first aid kit to use.

Now… I'm at a loss. Thankfully, Katniss isn't, and she amazes me with her resourcefulness as she goes into the jungle and rips off a large piece of moss, bringing it back and tying it around Beetee with a vine. It acts as an amazing bandage. Beetee is now breathing a bit better, and I think of how much he's lost and how he's been roaming in the hot jungle, and I think of how much he must need water.

I run to fetch it, and between the two of us, we work it so he is able to take several sips. But when more of it is leaking out of his mouth than staying in, we take the bowl away. Katniss looks up at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand, and looks back at me, "We should get him to the shade."

She's right. I bend down and lift him again, and we bring him right to the edge of the sand, where the trees hang over and form a cooler, shaded area. Katniss looks down at him, arms crossed, "I think that's all we can do."

All we can do? I would say Katniss just saved his life. She denies that she's good at healing, but she is the one who patched me up last year, who gave Finnick and I the advice about the itching, and the one who just came up with the idea of how to fix up Beetee and staunch his bleeding. I tell her as much, and before she can deny it, finish with, "It's in your blood."

But she disagrees nonetheless and walks away, over to Wiress. I sit next to Beetee on the sand, because I don't think he should be alone right now. And I think: there were eight dead in the bloodbath: Leon, Kavar, Woof, Cecelia, Duke, Jacy, Chrissy, and Seeder. Then Mags died, and Ami. Someone was killed with the giant wave, and Johanna said Blight was gone as well. Twelve dead. Eleven, including myself, to go.

But how am I going to be able to do that? Seeing Ami die, as she leapt in front of the monkey for me… I felt terrible. And I didn't know her half as well as I know Finnick, or even Johanna. As well as I will be getting to know Beetee and Wiress, as things seem to be turning out. I look down at Beetee here next to me, and we, well, Katniss, just saved him. what's the point of saving him if he's going to have to die if Katniss is to live?

I end up spending most of my day sitting with Beetee, while Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, and Wiress are on the beach. He still shouldn't be alone. Johanna makes her way over toward me, not covered in blood anymore, and sits down, holding a bowl of shellfish. "He awake yet?" She asks.

Shaking my head, I tell her, "He's lost a lot of blood, I think. It'll probably be a few more hours. Then again, I'm not a medical specialist or anything."

"Yeah, well, he's a pain when he is awake. Always bumbling and speaking about inventions that don't make any sense. I guess a knife wound in the back doesn't exactly help, though." She scarfs down some more of the food, and I think I remember her saying that he was stabbed in the back at the bloodbath.

So why would she willingly take him with her – and Wiress – which made her a lot more vulnerable and an easier target? It's kind of like Finnick taking on Katniss and myself, though I like to think we aren't exactly as needy as these two. _Why did you do it, Johanna? What are you hiding?_

But I don't ask. As noontime approaches, and there's a general agreement that the group should get some rest, I feel up to staying on guard for the first time since we've been in the arena, and I offer to stay up. But both Katniss and Johanna are adamant that they be the ones to watch, so I settle down on the sand, thoughts of allies and reasons and Haymitch always doing what Haymitch thinks is best on my brain.

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**Oh, Peeta, you and your sensitive side. Please review, and thanks to everyone who does!**


	24. Tick Tock This is a Clock

It's Katniss' hand on my shoulder, shaking me, and her voice loud and serious, saying, "Get up – we have to move."

I feel like this is a recurring theme in these Games – every time I go to sleep, I get shaken awake by Katniss with urgency. First it was the fog, with that popping into my mind, I zip right from drowsy to wide awake, and I sit up, while Finnick also sits, and Johanna just opens an eye and groans, "What?"

"Tick-tock," Katniss tells us.

Thinking this is some sort of message about Wiress, I look over, but she looks fine. Sleeping. Johanna scowls, "Not you, too. What, are you Nuts Jr.?"

Katniss rolls her eyes in Johanna's direction, then looks at Finnick, and settles on me, "We're in a clock. This arena is just one big clock. Each of the spokes separates a different hour. It starts at midnight – or noon. First the lightning strikes, there." She points to one of the sections of jungle, then moves her hand, going clockwise as she points out her realization, "Then there's the blood rain you guys were caught in, and then the fog we had, and then the monkeys. We didn't really notice most of the others, but then there was that wave at about ten."

As it really sinks in what this means, I think that the Gamemakers really went all out this year. This is probably the most deadly and well-thought out arena they've ever had. They must really want us dead, and quick. Following the order, I look up, muttering, "So there's the blood rain… and then there will be the fog."

Katniss seems happy that I'm following her wavelength and nods, grabbing my hand and helping to pull me up, "And we are far too close to the fog – and the monkeys – for my liking."

"Mine, too." Finnick agrees, and gets up. He looks at Johanna expectantly, and she grumbles. He offers her a hand, "Come on, grouch. Katniss is right about this one."

Katniss shakes her head, "Not me. Wiress."

But Katniss is the only one of us who took the time to listen and not just write off the "tick tocks" as something "Nuts" would say. The best one of us, she is. I give her a small smile, "So what time do you reckon it is?"

"I think it's one-thirty, judging on how far along the blood rain is." She tells me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Johanna get up.

I nod, and look around, "I'll get Beetee back in his jumpsuit, ready to go." Finnick and Johanna agree to gather all of the possessions we have here, and Katniss goes to wake Wiress.

Going over the few feet to where Beetee's lying down, I see that his eyes are open. I kneel down next to him, pulling the jumpsuit over from where we had left it out to dry next to him, "Hey, Beetee, how are you feeling?"

But even though he's now conscious, he's having trouble talking, only getting out two or three disconnected words that I can't put together. In the end, I end up putting my hand on his shoulder, getting him to look me in the eye, "We need to get going, so I'm going to get you back into your jumpsuit. I'll be as gentle as I can, but if I hurt you, just… nod. If I hurt you, start to nod, okay?"

He looks at me with his brows drawn down, and I grin, "You can nod in agreement, too."

He nods. And as carefully as I can, mindful of his wound, I pull up his jumpsuit. I'm sure as I secure it over his back it can't not hurt, but he doesn't complain at all. Or, as we've worked out, nod. "You're a good patient, Beetee."

There's no response from him this time, and I look over my shoulder at everyone else. Katniss has Wiress up and ready, and Finnick and Johanna have grabbed everything we have here. The only thing left to grab, is Beetee. Still kneeling next to him, I reach out, "We've got to get out of here."

Now he objects, shaking his head and even trying to fight me off a bit. He can't actually fight me off, but I'm not just going to take him when he doesn't want to go. There has to be a reason he's resisting, and I ask, "What is it?"

He takes a few shallow breaths before managing to say, "Wire."

Wire? Oh, he's worried about Wiress. I look around, and point over behind us, "She's right here. Wiress is fine. She's coming, too."

I go to pick him up again, because we don't have that much time left, but he repeats his same actions and grunts out, "Wire."

I look over at Wiress, who is just standing there, staring at the blood rain. So, he's not talking about her. Maybe he means real, actual wire. Maybe he wants us to give him some – Katniss has her bow and arrows, Finnick has his trident; Beetee's wire is to him what those weapons are to them. I'm about to tell him that we don't have any wire here with us, but then Johanna says, "Oh, I know what he wants. This worthless thing."

She picks up a blood covered cylinder and talks about how he got cut trying to get a worthless wire, and she says it with such irritation, that even though I like her, I have to stick up for Beetee, who can't stick up for himself. "He won his Games with wire," I tell her, and picture the tape in my mind. How Beetee knew he couldn't rely on his strength and trying to master other weapons wouldn't happen, so he got the Gamemakers to see how smart he was, they gave him a wire that he snatched at the Cornucopia, and he spent the rest of his Games frying his opponents in an elaborate trap. "Setting up that electrical trap. It's the best weapon he could have."

Johanna and Katniss talk, but I focus on Beetee, "So that's what you needed. Your actual wire. Sorry I didn't know. You're brilliant with it, you know."

He nods and looks grateful when Finnick puts it on his chest. Uncomfortable with the blood rain coming ever closer to the spot it'll turn into the poisonous fog, which is much too close to us, I look at Beetee, "Ready to go?"

He nods, and I pick him up. At Finnick's request, we head to the Cornucopia. While we walk, I wonder if I've gotten stronger due to our make-shift Career training or if Beetee really is _that_ light. I mean, I'm no Finnick Odair; I don't have as much strength as he does – I probably couldn't pick up someone my size and run for… however long we ran for. A mile or more, maybe.

I take up the end of the group, just in case the Careers are somewhere camped out near the Cornucopia. Though I really doubt it, it's better safe than sorry when I'm carrying someone else's life in my hands. But it's all clear, and I pick out a spot in the shade of the Cornucopia and lay Beetee down. "You okay?" I ask, just to make sure.

Now, when he nods, it's clear. He even manages out, "Thank you." Without sounding too strained. He reaches a shaky hand up to his chest and picks up the coil of wire, "Well, this is no good being so dirty."

I hold my hand out, "I can clean it, if you'd like."

But he shakes his head, "No, no. If you're not careful you could hurt yourself. And it's the wire, the wire needs to be taken care of. It's important."

I drop my hand, nodding, "Okay." And I scan the beach, looking for, ah, "Wiress, could you come here please?" She gives me her slightly not-all-there smile and hurries over to us. When she reaches us, I offer out my hand to Beetee again for the wire. This time, he gives it to me, and I give it to her, "Clean it, will you?"

Both she and Beetee appear to be satisfied with my requests, and while she goes down to the water and sings, Katniss and Johanna get into another little altercation. I wonder if they'll ever stop arguing with one another, and Johanna's genuine venom for Katniss just confuses me. I don't think Katniss has ever done anything to anyone, let alone Johanna personally, to be disliked that much. She just couldn't.

Thankful that Wiress comes between their arguing, pointing into the distance and saying, "Two," we all look at where she's pointing. The fog has started, signifying that it's two o'clock.

Katniss concurs with her, and I look back at the older woman. Nuts may be her nickname, and Johanna may think she is, but she undeniably figured out the mystery of the arena when no one else even thought of it. Taking my eyes from her to the fog, I mutter, "Like clockwork." Then I go back to Wiress, who seems to get so very little recognition for her intelligence, especially from traveling with Johanna. "You were very smart to figure that out Wiress," I tell her.

She smiles over at me, and goes back to cleaning the wire, while Beetee clears his throat and extols to us that Wiress is more than simply smart. I believe it. After figuring out this whole arena, she deserves the highest praise. The group then disperses, looking over the weapons, and I just sit and watch the fog, as it moves. It looks like it's going just ever so slightly from here, but after having been in there from experience, it goes a lot faster when you're trying to outrun the hour.

Hmm. I stand up and brush off the sand, surveying what's going on around us. So meticulously planned. I wonder when the Gamemakers thought a tribute would figure it out – if they thought a tribute would figure it out. Well, either way, I don't want to lose what knowledge we've gained. I just need something to write it down on.

While everyone else practices with weapons, I think I'd be better off doing what I'm good at – drawing. Using one of the overly large leafs from the jungle, it's very soft and smooth, and it allows the swift tip of my knife to slice cleanly through. Looking around us, I start with where we are: the Cornucopia. The heart of the Games.

So I draw a small circle on the center of the leaf. As evenly as I can without at tools, scaling it to about a thumb's length away from one another, I draw the twelve sand bars coming out from it. in between the bars, I draw wavy lines forming a broken circle to indicate water. And then, around everything, a large circle. The jungle.

Then I go into detail, facing the direction of twelve o'clock, and drawing the Cornucopia on the leaf. When I hear Katniss come over to me, I point out my newest observation, and point out how the Cornucopia is positioned. She nods, "The tail points toward twelve o'clock."

On the leaf Cornucopia, where the tail is, I start to label numbers. 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. Done. Hmm. This reminds me of the districts in a way. Every district One through Twelve is responsible for getting a different job done. It's like we're all in our own hours. Okay, before I start confusing myself, I remember Katniss' words from earlier, I say, "Twelve to one is the lightning zone." I scratch it into the part of the jungle on my leaf, then add in all the rest that I know – blood, fog, monkeys.

As Katniss reminds me not to forget the giant wave we saw kill… someone earlier, we're joined by Johanna and Finnick. She asks them if they know anything we didn't add, and I know there's something I forgot to put on the leaf, but I don't know what it is. It mattered, too… Oh, yeah. "I'm going to mark the ones where the Gamemakers' weapon follows us out of the jungle, so we'll stay clear of those." I bring up the tip of my knife and cut through the wave and fog zones. But it still leaves us with seven areas we don't have a clue about. Either way, we're much better off now than we were only hours ago. I sit down on the beach, keeping the leaf in my lap, "Well, it's a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway."

And it's this kind of knowledge that can make all the different when Katniss is trying to stay alive. Like, if –

There's no more time to think, when Katniss, impressively loads and shoots an arrow within the blink of an eye, wondering what brought it on, I follow it as the arrow lodges into Gloss' head. And both he and Wiress fall into the waves.

We're under attack. Johanna is throwing her newfound axes, and Beetee is just sitting there, hardly able to get up and move at a moment's notice, so I reach for him, intending to pull him farther behind the Cornucopia, when Finnick dives in front of me. I barely have time to adjust to the shock of the attack, then the same feeling as Finnick takes the injury for me, when it feels like the ground gets dislodged beneath us.

We start to spin, getting into a fast rhythm and I reach one of my hands out to hold fast to the Cornucopia and sand gets whipped into my eyes, and I blink them, only to see Beetee, who my hand was just next to, reaching towards, start to move his hands around for something to hold on to, but his back injury prevents him from moving too fast, and as we start to go faster, I try to reach out my fingers, and yell, "Beetee!"

But the only thing I get is a mouthful of sand, and he goes flying out of my view. And then it takes all I can do to simply hold on until we stop. With arms feeling like they're made out of rubber, feeling sick, I look over at Katniss. When I've confirmed that she's okay, I push myself up to my knees. Where did Beetee go?

Poking me head around, feeling too nauseous to actually open my mouth and speak, I'm grateful when Johanna notices he's missing as well, and asks, "Where's Volts?"

While everyone else is able to push themselves to their feet, I still feel like I'm going to vomit, and I crawl around, trying to help as best I can, but it's clear Beetee isn't here on the sand anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finnick take off and yell, "In the water! I'll get him!"

And while he does, I watch the slight limp, and think of the sudden attack on us from the Careers. My stomach feels like I've swallowed a rock when I think about how they got Wiress, but then confusion trickles over me… Finnick jumped in front of me, getting himself stabbed in the leg. It's not fatal, doesn't even appear to be severe, but he could have avoided it altogether.

Just like Ami could have. Both of them have put their lives on the line for me. And because I know that I'm nothing special, especially not to them, I'm forced to believe that it's for a different reason entirely. A reason that has to do with keeping Katniss happy. Katniss… who is now running toward Wiress' dead body that is floating out to sea.

"Katniss, what are you doing? Stop!" But she's too far away to hear me, and, nervous for her, I run to the edge of the sand, where she has jumped off, swimming toward the body. I know she can swim, but my heart pounds as she takes on the waves anyway, because, well, she's no Finnick, and anything could happen to her out there, and I can't save her if something did happen.

My heart only calms to a normal pace when she reaches the sand, and I walk back with her. She went and retrieved Beetee his wire coil, because that's the kind of person she is. When she gives it back to Beetee, everyone watches as he draws out a small length of it, and weaves it around in his fingers, his face so sullen. He lost Wiress, and they were a team. While we were in the Capitol, I learned that they'd been good friends and confidants for many years. And he just lost her.

I don't even want to imagine how he feels, and I feel so blissful beyond words when Katniss walks to me and I reach for her, pulling her close as she wraps her arms around my neck. And while I hold her, I close my eyes and feel so happy, for once, that she doesn't love me like I love her. Because losing her would be so far past devastating for me, and in this arena, when I die, I don't want her to feel that kind of pain.

I don't know how long it is that Finnick and Johanna and Beetee take to mourn the loss of not only Wiress, but all of their district partners, altogether, but I'm grateful that it's giving me the time to hold Katniss close. Just being here with all of these people, them helping me, helping them… I'll admit my lines on what I have to do were getting a little bit blurred. But feeling her heart beat against mine on this beach under the blazing sun, I know.

These people that I've come to care for will have to die. But I know I can't be the one to do it. I just couldn't.

Finally, we draw apart, and our group decides on where in the jungle to hide out so we're not "on this stinking island" anymore, as Johanna put it. After a debate about which direction is best, as, after the spin of the island, the map I made doesn't exactly fit, we just head off into a random one that looks clear for the time being.

As we near the cover of the trees, I look around at everyone – none of us are looking our best, and we've all just taken in several mouthfuls of sand, so I say, "I'm going to try to tap a tree."

Finnick insists, "No, it's my turn."

Looking around, even though I don't see any mutts or Gamemakers disasters, I know he can't just go walking into the jungle to find a good tree alone, "I'll at least watch your back." I tell him.

But Johanna insists that Katniss go with him, and as I watch their retreating figures, she rips off a leaf and hands it to me for a new map. As I draw, I keep an eye on Johanna out of the corner of my eye. But I can't even pretend to be suspicious of her, really. Not when, so far, everyone here has been so desperate to help me. While I fill in the slots of the disasters around the Cornucopia on my leaf, Johanna testily swings out her axe and lodges it into a tree. Repeat. And repeat, until she stops and asks, "So, you and Katniss, you two really care for each other."

But she says it in this way… I don't know. It's not just a causal question or observation, but I don't know how to actually describe it. And, damn these cameras, but I can't question her, either. My voice even, I tell her, "Yes. I love Katniss very much. I always have."

She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, a fluttering from up above catches our eyes and we both look up to see a jabberjay swoop ahead and go in the direction of Katniss and Finnick. Right after it leaves our view, I hear the scream. Johanna's axe is in her hand at the ready and she asks, "Katniss?"

The scream comes again and it sounds kind of like Katniss, but it's not… and then it hits me as dread fills my stomach, "No. It's her sister."

* * *

**Damn jabberjays...**

**Side note: has anyone else ever been bored enough to marvel at how easily the names of muttations roll off the tongue? Jabberjays, tracker jackers... especially jabberjay, though, because I always just want to say that over and over.**


	25. Jabberjays and Love

We both run in the direction of the jungle where they went in to find a tree, and desperation scrapes at me and I need to get Katniss out of there. When I'm almost at the beginning of the trees, the screaming of Prim stops, and I falter in my run to the trees, and Johanna completely stops, saying, "Well, that was fast."

But it's not right, I can feel it in my stomach, the uneasy curl that there's something gone wrong in there, something wrong with Katniss. I don't respond to her, but keep running at the trees, and Johanna calls out from behind me, "There's nothing there anymore!"

I turn slightly so I'm looking over my shoulder at her, yelling back, "Something's wro–"

It's all I get out before I slam my shoulder into the invisible shield separating me from the jungle ahead, the force of my running causing me to bounce back and slam onto the ground on my back. Within moments Johanna is at my side, looking down on me asking, "So… you're not dead, right? Because the last person I know who ran into a force field is dead."

"Not dead," I tell her, "Just bruised." And I push myself up, looking right into the trees, as if there's nothing between us. But there is; even though this force field, after having bad run-ins with both of them, is much, much less powerful than the first one guarding the whole outer area of the arena.

I reach out slowly, testingly, and gently touch my finger to the force field. All I feel against my skin is a light zing, but there's no getting through it. Johanna also reaches out her hand and touches it, asking, "Do you think the jabberjays are still in there with them?"

Misery fills me, because I _know_ the answer, and I tell her grimly, "Yes, I do."

We both lower our hands, but neither of us walks away. I can't. Because Katniss is in there somewhere, being tortured with the screams of her little sister. And that's Katniss' biggest weakness, and everyone knows it. I detest the Capitol more than I've ever hated anyone or anything in my life right now. I hate them so much, I can taste it.

Johanna, I can tell, isn't nearly as concerned as I am though, and she just says, "But they're only jabberjay; they can't do any real harm."

I shake my head at her, and say, "You don't know Katniss. She'd do better withstanding physical pain than she would with this." My voice sounds hollow, and I just hope she's okay in there.

And then, like an answer to my prayers, Katniss walks into my view. She's looking a little crazed, but with what I had been thinking, a little bit crazed is a good thing. When she looks at me, I can't read her expression, and I extend my arms toward the force field, yelling, "Katniss? Can you hear me?"

But it's futile, because I know she can't. She and Finnick both start toward us, running, but this can't be right. I know the hour can't be up, and the force field is still here. Where are the jabberjays? While they run for us, run to get away, Johanna and I both scream as loud as we can, "Stop! There's a force field!"

Beetee says from behind us, "They can't hear you, just as we can't hear them."

And then we watch as both Katniss and Finnick hit the force field. Johanna lets out a burst of laughter, and when I give her a sharp look, she shrugs and continues, "What? It was funny."

I just shake my head at her, and turn my attention back to Katniss. She looks like she's near tears and she's disheveled; she just needs to hang on. Just hold on. I'm here. I hold one hand up to the force field, and she meets my eyes and puts hers up on the other side, and if this damn thing weren't here, we'd be touching.

Talking slowly, thinking maybe she can read my lips or something, anything, I keep my hand up and just try to be grateful that she's okay and that there aren't any jabberjays around anymore. But that appreciation is short lived, and alarm replaces it. Because before Katniss sees them coming, I see even more of the jabberjays come flying from the other direction, landing on the branches surrounding Finnick and Katniss.

Only when Finnick sinks to the ground and Katniss looks at me, her eyes terrified, do I know they've began their miserable squawking. She rips her hand away from mine on the force field and starts doing what she does best: trying to survive the pain. She shoots at the birds, but it's no use, and I can tell she's going crazy in there and I shout, "Hang in there, Katniss! Just hang on, it's not real! It's not real!"

Johanna tells me quietly, "She can't hear you."

And _I know that_ but I can't just stand here, helpless, while Katniss falls to the ground and curls up in the fetal position, tears leaking out of her eyes while she gently rocks herself. She needs help. She needs _me_, and I can't do anything. And I know this trick put on by the Gamemakers is very deliberately not to just hurt the people stuck in there, like Katniss is, but also for people like me, who have to watch.

Wretchedness attacks me while I watch Katniss grow more and more nonresponsive, and I drop down to the ground, kneeling right against the force field, keeping my hand pushed against it so right when the hour ends, I'll know. Johanna's not laughing now, and I feel her hand on my shoulder, as she says, "Sitting here watching won't help."

Miserable, thinking about what Katniss is going through, I whisper back, "Nothing will."

I feel like it's been a lifetime when the shield gives away, and I fall forward, immediately crawling toward her, and I gently reach out and take her shoulders in my hands, "It's okay. I have you now."

But she doesn't respond, she might not have even heard me, what with her hands clamped over her ears. Shifting to my feet, I wrap my arms around her and lift. She's so small, curled up, and she's rigidly holding herself together, and as Johanna kneels down next to Finnick, I walk a fair distance away from the other three of our group, slowly sitting and drawing her into my lap.

I gently rock her, the way my father would when I was upset when I was little and he would put me in his lap, and I stroke my hands up and down her tense back, whispering to her, "It's okay now. Prim is all right back in District Twelve. She's alive and well, and so is your mom and Gale, and everyone. Everyone is fine, just fine."

I keep whispering, basically the same thing, over and over and over again. Aren't words supposed to be what I'm good at? That can't be true, because otherwise I would be freaking _helping_ right now, instead of being a worthless lug. She's so miserable, and I just want to make it better. It takes a long time before her muscles relax under my hands, and I continue stroking.

Eventually, her eyes open, red and glassy, and I feel like I've been hit in the stomach, and when her hands finally fall away from blocking her ears, I whisper, "It's all right, Katniss."

She shakes her head, her voice strained when she tells me, "You didn't hear them."

I think about the very beginning, how I knew when the new hour started, "I heard Prim. Right in the beginning." I slide my hand behind her neck and angle her head so she's looking at me, because she needs to see: "But it wasn't her. It was a jabberjay."

Her voice is thick with tears when she disagrees, "It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it."

Trying to bring her to the edge of understanding, I relate to her about the last Games, when I thought the muttations attacking us actually had the dead tributes' eyes, but they weren't, not really. That the Gamemakers must have taken Prim's voice from some sort of recording and altered it. I _know_ they couldn't have taken Prim and tortured her or killed her, and not just because the thought of something like that happening to sweet little Prim is unbearable. But because of the interviews.

Last year, Prim was the very first person who got questioned by reporters from the Capitol, and more of them lined up to interview her than anyone else. That has to be what it'll be like this year, too. I convince her of this, as well as Finnick, with help from Johanna and Beetee.

This experience, leaving both Katniss and Finnick clearly upset and shaken beyond belief, and me troubled as well, has even taken its toll on Johanna. That much is clear, when she gets this look in her eyes, this sneer on her face, and says, "Of course Peeta's right. The whole country adores Katniss' little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands. Don't want that, do they? Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that?"

Holy. Crap. Johanna Mason as I live and breathe just went there on national television. The districts undoubtedly didn't get to hear that, but the Gamemakers did. President Snow did. I did. While she goes to get water, my thoughts about how she and Finnick could have possibly maybe been working in favor of a rebellion all along are practically cemented in place.

Incredible. And the thought just makes a whole new hope rise inside of me: if they are in favor of the rebellion, they will definitely both ensure Katniss' life at all cost, right? She is the girl who sparked it all.

Excellent. With a renewed appreciation for them, I look over as Finnick pulls himself into the water, which is the only thing here that could give him the most comfort. Quietly curious, I ask, "Who did they use against Finnick?"

She shrugs and tells me, "Someone named Annie."

Annie… Annie… I know that name. My mind is able to place it within moments, "Must be Annie Cresta." I remember her Hunger Games, which I watched on tape only once, but it was enough. She was tragic, winning because she was the best swimmer after a dam broke and drowned everyone. But even being the winner, she went absolutely mad. I'm pretty sure, after seeing how she was when she was reaped this year, before Mags took her place, that she's never recovered.

I rehash the story to Katniss, and then look out at Finnick, who's still cutting through the waves out in the water. He wrote a love poem and read it aloud during his interview. It must have been for Annie back in District Four. Someone he really loves, not a woman in the Capitol.

Katniss leans her head on my shoulder for one last moment, before drawing away and standing up. She goes to wash the tear tracks off her face and I stand, stretching, until a canon goes off, and Finnick and Katniss both return from the water, and Johanna comes running out of the trees, shell filled with water, and scans us to make sure we're all alive, before we all look toward the section of jungle right next to where the jabberjays attacked.

I don't know what's in there. But I hope to never, ever figure it out, and I feel sick when the hovercraft claw has to dip down _five_ times for different parts of the body. Wondering who else is out there, I desperately hope that Chaff is still alive.

During training, I got to know him the most. He was loud and abrasive, and he was like Haymitch. I know I should hope that he _is_ one of the two deaths that have happened who I don't know the identity of, because I can't kill him and I don't want to see him die. But I can't _hope_ that he dies, because I can't make myself hope for anyone to die.

And I especially would never wish for anyone to be torn apart like that, brutally. So we have it on record, I pull out my map leaf and knife, marking the jabberjay territory, as well as the one right after it. I have no name to put specifically there, but I feel "beast" works well enough. Don't cross the beast.

Katniss finishes cleaning herself up, and Finnick announces, "I'm going to catch some fish for dinner."

While Katniss volunteers to help him, I go to sit next to Beetee. "How does your back feel?" I ask him while he taps his wire coil on his fingers.

"It feels the same, maybe slightly better. Thank you for asking." But he doesn't look up to meet my eyes, just looks at his wire, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Looking out to the shore line, I'm relieved to see Katniss and Finnick looking both relatively recovered from their time in with the jabberjays. Then I look at Johanna, who picks up one of her axes from the beach and says, "I'm going to get some water for us to have with the food."

Grabbing the shells we've found, I stand up and take out my knife, "I'll go, too."

While we walk, we don't speak, even though I'm dying to have answers. About the rebellion. About how wide it's reaching. About who else is in on it. Why she seems to immensely dislike Katniss when she's the one who really got the ball rolling with the rebellion. Ask to make sure she's really willing to do as much for Katniss as I am, even if it's for different reasons.

All I do is hand her the shells and watch her back while she fills them with water.

By the time we make it back to the beach, night is falling, the bright moon rising, and the anthem plays. Tonight – I can't believe we've only been here for a day – Katniss and I don't join hands and wait. We just watch.

Cashmere and Gloss are first. Both District One tributes are gone, and even though they killed Wiress, even though they were against us… I still feel bad. Worse when Wiress and Mags appear. Agatha from Five is there, too, and I briefly wonder how she met her end, until Ami's face is there, and I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling her swirling finger draw on my face. When I open my eyes again, Blight's face is there. And we end with Benton, from Ten.

We have only been here for two days. Two days and sixteen tributes down. These must be the fastest Games on record, because we are already two-thirds of the way through with us. Only eight people remain. Brutus, Enobaria, Beetee, Finnick, Johanna, Chaff, Katniss and me. And I don't know what I'm going to do.

I've never actively taken a life before. In the deepest place in my mind, I think I might be able to kill Brutus and Enobaria if I had to, to keep Katniss alive. But even though Katniss' survival is the number one thing on my mind, I just don't think I could kill any of the people we're with now, or Chaff.

I remember a time when I was a little boy, and the Games were too gory for me to watch. They used to give me nightmares, and the violence terrified me. Real people killing other people… I couldn't even watch them until I was thirteen. I asked my father when I was seven, and I had just figured out what they were really doing in the arena, as I'd never watched the Games at all before then, "Why can't more of them live?"

I don't remember my dad's answer. But I wish I did. Maybe I could apply it to this situation and make myself feel better.

Johanna's voice cuts into my thoughts, "They're really burning through us."

Finnick sits down in the sand and asks, "Who's left? Besides us five and District Two?"

"Chaff," the answer comes out of my mouth right away. Before anyone says anything else, we see a parachute coming down.

It's kind of strange, though, seeing a parachute right now. Last year, when Katniss and I were together, and when she got them while she was alone, they only came when we were _really_ desperate. Like, had nothing to eat for days desperate. But here, now, this one can't be a reward – we've done nothing to deserve it. Nor are any of us fatally injured or needing food or water.

The parachute lands directly between me and Beetee, and, regardless of who exactly it's for, I lean forward to open it because with his back, he's not doing much leaning. It's even more bread. Not greenish with seaweed this time, but small and square, and I recognize them, "These are from your district, right, Beetee?"

He assures me that they are – good to know my knowledge of bread hasn't left me – and then Finnick takes to counting the rolls. He goes over each one methodically, just like he did with his own bread. I don't get it, at all. He and Beetee discuss how much of it we have, then divide it, and soon we all eat our food, then switch over to the beach where the wave just hit, so we'll have a place to stay for a good few hours.

I look at the bags under Johanna's eyes as I lay Beetee down on the sand, and he immediately falls asleep. "I'll take the first watch."

Katniss steps up next to me, "I will, too."

Neither Finnick nor Johanna disagrees and they both go to sleep. Neither of them have had much rest since the Games begun, and I've had probably the most sleep of anyone here. Wide awake, I look at Katniss, and I can still see the fractured emotion in her eyes from earlier. From thinking Prim was dead.

And I take her hand and draw her to sit, facing the water, and then sit with my back pressed against hers, facing the jungle. She leans her head against my shoulder before long, and I can't resist reaching up and caressing her hair that falls over my shoulder.

I think of the type of person she is, how even last year, before she came to even care about me as… well, whatever she cares about me as, she kept me safe and alive. It's because of me that she's in this whole mess, because she couldn't let me die, even though I was basically nothing to her. This year, I know she's trying to do the "right thing" and get me out of here, too. And now, with sixteen people gone, I think it's time to bring out the locket.

Fingering it as it lays on my chest, I whisper, "Katniss, it's no use pretending we don't know what the other one is trying to do." What I'm trying to do is no secret to her, and she needs to know that I'm serious about it. Deadly serious. I remember Haymitch's conversation with me, right after the Quell. And I'm sure Katniss had probably about the same conversation with him, "I don't know what kind of deal you think you've made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well. So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us."

And, in my eyes, it's easy to see which one he was lying to. After all, Katniss is the leader of the rebellion I suspect Haymitch is a part of. He let me go into the arena for him, knowing what I intended to do.

Katniss turns to look at me and asks, her voice cracking, "Why are you saying this now?"

Desperate, because it's now or never to make her understand – every minute could be my last here, and with the odds turning out the way they are in this arena, this could very well be my last day – I tell her, "Because I don't want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die and I live, there's no life at all for me back in District Twelve." I think of my family, who I love, but you can't base your entire future for the family who doesn't need you. You can base it on your family like Prim, who depends on you to take care of them. On your family like Gale, who can you give a future. "You're my whole life."

And the words are so true, it makes my chest hurt. If I got out of here without her, I would be so crushed… I would be _nothing_ to my family, no help at all, because I could be nothing at all. I want to cry just thinking about it, but I take a deep breath, and give her god's honest truth: "I would never be happy again." I've known that ever since I was five.

I can see it in her eyes before she even starts to talk, that she's going to disagree. But she doesn't know yet what this kind of love feels like. Not the sort of love you feel for your family, but _real_ romantic love, love where your entire heart is stamped with someone else's name, and it's been shipped and received, and you know there's no hope getting it back, but it doesn't matter because you're glad it's found a home with someone. Sure, she loves Gale. But I know it's not like this yet, hasn't gone this far. So she just doesn't know.

"It's different for you." I think of how even I know that she's come to care for me, and how she cried when she thought I had been done in by the force field yesterday, "I'm not saying that it wouldn't be hard. But there are other people who'd make your life worth living."

Locket time. I slide it off my neck and pop it open for her to look inside. She has a quick intake of breath before her eyes absolutely melt with emotion, and I know it's doing its job. That's art for you. Brings you right to your knees. I understand the feeling. While she's enraptured by the reminder of her home, I tell her, "Your family needs you."

Not just the family of the past, with her mom and Prim. But the family she'll have in the future. When she takes the final step and takes the fall into soulful, real love with Gale and has the family she deserves to have, complete with a life out of the arena. Without reminders like me hanging around, making her feel bad. The fact that I know a life without me would be better for her tears me apart, but that's just love, isn't it? I know that her life will be better without me, so I'm taking myself out of the equation.

I look down at the locket and see her mother. Prim. People who depend on Katniss daily, who need her to live themselves. At Gale, who, if I'm not mistaken, is in the exact same boat I am where it comes to this amazing girl. He would feel the same way I would if Katniss didn't come back, wouldn't he? Then I think of my family, and Katniss, Haymitch, then a few people I was good friends with pre-arena, who still occasionally talk to me. They will be sad, even my mother. But after a while, they will move on. Katniss will have her family to focus on. My family will have the baby. I sum it all up for her, "No one really needs me."

She meets my eyes with hers, that seem to be incredibly translucent in the moonlight, and she tells me words that, before this Quell, I would have killed to hear, "I do. I need you."

I want to give her one of the arguments I've prepared. About how her family needs her and about her future. But I don't have an argument prepared about this, because I never in a million years saw this coming. I search to say something – anything – that will counter her statements. But I have nothing. My heart feels like it's breaking, which a corner of my mind tells me is ironic, because the only other time I felt like this was when she told me she _didn't_ love me.

But now, when I can really see her, when I know she's not doing this to get sponsors – we already have them – when I know she's saying this to me for real, I want to jump for joy and break down at the same time. I waited all my life to hear these words from Katniss Everdeen, and now that I have them, I can't do anything with them. Except die knowing that I'm going to cause her immeasurable pain.

Then she does something else I've been waiting to receive for years: she leans forward and kisses me. It's nothing like last year in the arena, where, when I looked back on it, she was just completely faking it all. It's real, and I can taste the emotion on her lips and there's nothing more I want on this earth than to just sink into it, into her, but I try to draw away after a few moments, "Katniss –"

But she presses her lips against mine once more, firmly, and I can tell that it's not just to shut me up. It's Katniss, really wanting me, pushing herself against me, Peeta Mellark, in passion that isn't a show for cameras or sponsors or Snow. One of my hands goes to bury itself in her luxurious hair, and another comes up to cup her cheek.

She's an aggressive kisser – it's not surprising, given who she is – and it melds with me, interestingly, because I'm trying to savor what's happening, and it's magnificent, and it makes me feel things, just _feel_ so much, and it's all so real, and –

We both jump apart at the lightning – it must be midnight – as it strikes down in the jungle somewhere. Finnick is also awake now, due to the lightning, and he draws a hand over his face and looks at us uneasily, "I can't sleep anymore. One of you should rest." Then he gives us a closer look, and sees the way we're holding each other and his voice takes on a tone I associate with training Finnick more than arena Finnick, "Or both of you. I can watch alone."

I think of Brutus and Enobaria still out there, "It's too dangerous. I'm not tired." I look at Katniss, and as much as I wish we could continue like this, we can't and I know it. I don't want to make it even more difficult when she comes to realize I'm determined to die in here. Or make her any more determined to keep me alive. "You lie down, Katniss."

I push myself up and offer my hand to her, helping her up as well, and keep her hand in mine while I walk her to where the rest are sleeping. When she turns to look at me, I take the locket and make it her token, now. A constant reminder of her mother, Gale, and Prim – the people who need her and who she wants to get back to.

With a deep breath, I look over at Finnick, then at Johanna and Beetee. It was somewhat easy to slip away from them when it was just Katniss and me, together, awake in the moonlight. Now they bring me back to the Games. I reach my hand down and lay it on her stomach, where our baby would be if my fabricated story was the truth.

"You're going to be a great mother, you know." I draw that hand up, to under her chin, and lean in, giving her one last kiss for the night. With that kiss, I think of how I've dreamt of having real children with her, and I let those dreams die right here and now, and I turn and walk away, back to where Finnick is on guard.

"I understand, you know," he says to me, quietly while we both sit side by side on the sand.

I think of the torture he was going through with the jabberjays, how his love for Annie Cresta brought him to his knees, and how it took him so long to get over hearing her scream. "I know."

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**Only three more chapters left now. **

**Also, I usually update every other day for this story, but I'm going on vacation until the eighth today, so I apologize, but the next chapter won't be up until then.**


	26. Plans

I don't sleep all night, and Finnick and I both stay on guard together. After our brief exchange of words last night, nothing more personal comes up. I'm too emotionally raw to talk about me and Katniss right now, and he has never actually spoken of Annie Cresta to me directly. So it's just another one of those nighttime secrets that aren't really secrets at all.

I look over at Beetee, who's been awake for a while, fiddling with the wire, pulling at it, coiling it back up. He mutters almost nonstop while he thinks, and makes sighs when something doesn't work out the way he's planned in his mind, but then has sudden intakes of breath when something works out. And he's been doing a lot less sighing lately…

Then I look over at Johanna, who's just woken. She rubs at her eyes, then snaps them open and looks around. "Good morning," I say to her.

"Yeah," she grunts back and makes her way over to where I am now sitting while Finnick takes a dip in the water. "Since we're all up, should we wake Sleeping Beauty over there?"

I look at Katniss, who seems to have had a perfect night of sleep. No nightmares, and she has the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. Maybe once she's out of here for good, after this and us are all behind her, she'll be able to sleep like that more often. I hope so. Looking away from her, I tell her, "No. Let her sleep."

She huffs, "Fine."

And once again, I wonder about all of this. My maybe crazy, but maybe not so crazy thoughts that they're trying to keep Katniss alive, even when Johanna so clearly doesn't like her. Finnick comes back over to us, and nods in the direction of Beetee, "Another parachute."

I look over at our friend from District Three, then up. Sure enough, there's another silver parachute coming toward us. While we gather to watch it fall, I hear Katniss get approach from behind. When she reaches us, Beetee pulls open the new package, and it's more bread. More bread? This just doesn't make any sense.

I've spent a lot of time in the past few months dedicated to watching the Hunger Games on tape. Even when people have a ton of sponsors – and I know Katniss and I do, and put us with Finnick… well, it's like all of the rich Capitol citizens just got together and handed Haymitch and the District Four mentor a large sum of money – they get other things. Not just bread. Especially if they still have some leftover bread from before.

Thinking of previous sponsor gifts from other Games, usually the first food sent is bread. But then it progresses. I think of last year, when Katniss and I were stuck in the cave together and Haymitch sent us the whole picnic. Dried meats, eggs, cold water, vegetables. That's the kind of food someone like Finnick is used to getting in the arena.

Finnick bends down and does his usual odd examination of the bread, before he divides it and both he and Johanna go to eat theirs over by where everyone slept. I walk over to near where the water rises up onto the sand and plunk down, and Katniss comes to sit next to me. While we eat, I try to make eye contact with her, but she refuses to look at me. I wonder if she feels awkward about last night.

She shouldn't at all, because it was one of the best moments of my life, as well as being one of the worst, and she did nothing wrong. Neither of us did. Then again – aside from that kiss she told me she had with Gale in the woods – she'd never been _really_ kissed. Not like our fake ones for the Capitol. Or… maybe she's feeling guilty, because of Gale watching at home. That seems more likely.

I don't really know. All I do know for sure is that I don't want to spend however long I have left on this planet with her not being able to look at me. While I finish my bread, I think of what to say to make her feel better. Maybe something about how I don't expect her to do that again with me, and I would never ask her to. Maybe that I understand how hard this is for her, but that everything will get better.

Maybe I don't have to say anything, because as I pop the last bit of bread into my mouth, she offers me her hand. Wordlessly, I take it and she pulls me over to the edge of the water, telling me, "Come on. I'll teach you how to swim."

I want to crack a joke about how that survival skill of hers might have been appreciated _before_ we entered the arena. But I don't, because she doesn't look like she wants jokes. In fact, she looks completely serious. I don't know exactly why, but she looks determined. And I know she'll tell me – after all, isn't that why she's taking me away from the others? – so I go along with what she orders me to do in the water, waiting in curiosity.

While she gives me specific directions of which arm to lift, how to kick my legs, and when to breathe, I picture how Finnick swims in the water. He makes it look effortless, but I'm barely able to stay afloat. Okay, well, I'm only up waist-high right now, and even if I didn't have this flotation belt on, I wouldn't drown because I could easily stand. But, anyway, I think I actually have it down, and as I do another small lap, I look at Katniss, feeling like a child with a new skill to show off.

When I grin over at her, she waves at me, "I have something to show you." She holds up her arm, "No more scabs."

I swim over to her, and sit down next to her on the sand, still in the shallow water. Taking a handful of sand, she rubs it down her arm, instructing, "Like this."

So I do as she does and look around. No one's watching us now. Maybe I was wrong; maybe she really did just get the sudden urge to teach me how to swim. But then there it is: "Look, the pool is down to eight. I think it's time we took off."

Her words sink in and I want to go along with what she's saying, I do. But even if we do leave this alliance, my instincts tell me Finnick and Johanna wouldn't come hunting for us. There's a bad feeling I have, though, that Brutus and Enobaria wouldn't be that far behind us. I think of Beetee's satisfaction he's been having with his wire this morning, and it prompts me to say, "Tell you what. Let's stick around until Brutus and Enobaria are dead. I think Beetee's trying to put together some kind of trap for them now. Then, I promise, we'll go." If she wants to, we will. I just hope nothing bad happens when we do.

She reluctantly agrees, and calls Finnick over to teach him about our scabs, and I have mixed feelings about everything. I don't really want to leave the group we have here, but I also know that it's futile to pretend that they can all live. Katniss is right. It'll be best to leave sooner rather than later. I don't think either of us wants to be around for their deaths, and even though the pain would be fleeting for me before I come to my own demise, I don't want her to have to live with those memories.

Before long, Beetee calls us over: he _has_ found a plan. It involved a complicated explanation about how he's pretty sure what's left of the Careers are hanging around somewhere on the edge of the jungle and how he could fry them if we tied his wire around the lightning tree in time for midnight and then ran the other end of it down to the water, and electricity would conduce... or something. I'm not entirely sure, as I've never known much anything about electonics. But it sounds like it will work, right?

Finnick and Johanna are on the fence, but Katniss wants to do it. The more I think about it the more sure I am that we should try. What have we got to lose? "I say we try it. Katniss is right." I have to believe Beetee knows what he's talking about. Wiress was brilliant and she wasn't in control of all of her faculties. Beetee is far more in touch with reality than Wiress was, so why shouldn't we trust him with this?

Johanna and Finnick both end up agreeing, and Beetee clutches his wire, looking in the direction of where the lightning will strike, "I want to look at the tree, before midnight, before I rig it with the wire. Just to be sure."

I look around us; it's going to be near time for the giant wave to come and splash up to where we stand, and we're going to have to leave for that, anyway. I say as much out loud, and the others agree. Quickly, we pack up and all march up to the tree. During the trip, which takes a few hours, Beetee gets to examine his tree and we all settle down to have a picnic with food from the jungle rather than seafood.

When we return to the beach, we decide to have a feast of seafood for dinner, because – if the wire plan works – all of the sea life we've been eating for the past couple of days will be gone. As Finnick teaches us how to fish, I think about how we've spent the whole day working together. The whole day as a team.

I don't want Beetee or Johanna or Finnick, or Chaff, who's still out there somewhere, to die any more than I want my loved ones back at home to. It's not fair and it's not right. But, I look over at Katniss working in the water just as I am, and I know it has to be done. For her. Whether she's going to want it or be happy about it or not. Sometimes people can't always see what's best for them until it's too late. And I can't let that "too late" happen to Katniss. What's best for her is to go home and to live. It's best for everyone involved. She deserves all of the beauties and splendors life has to offer. I just need to get her home to be able to experience them.

I pick up an oyster and pry it open, just like Finnick taught me to just a little bit ago, and I'm shocked when I see it. A pearl, just laying there in all her beauty. It's what I needed after these depressing thoughts: a little beauty. I take it into my hand and feel a laugh coming up. Holding the pearl up into the air, I say, "Hey, look at this!"

It puts me in much better spirits now, like there was some sort of message hidden just for me in the oyster. A message not to give up, because I can give Katniss a life beyond here, with everything she deserves. Starting with pearls.

Still smiling, I look up at Finnick and remember what Effie said last year, about how if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns into a pearl, which is a complete lie. Oh, Effie. We never said anything to dissuade her misconception, and I know she's watching now, just like the rest of Panem. With her in mind, I turn to Finnick and keep my face straight, "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls." I tell him.

He gives me a look like I've just said someone incredibly dumb, "No, it doesn't." So Finnick is even smarter than I gave him credit for before. It's not just survival skills he has. Or maybe you don't have to be from the coal mining district to know that, maybe it's just an Effie thing.

Either way, warmth spreads through me while Katniss laughs, and I know she knows why I said what I said. Glad to have made her laugh, I bend down and wash the pearl off in the water so it's shining and sparkling and beautiful. Just like her. I hold it out for her to take, "For you."

She reaches over and picks it up off my hand, holding it close to her face, and she's just so radiant my breath catches, and I sincerely hope Gale knows what he has in her. He has to. How could anyone have someone like her within their grasp and _not_ immediately fall to their knees to protect her?

When her hand tightens around the pearl, I think _yes_. She accepted this. This is a gift from me to her until forever, and she can keep it. It's a small token of my love for her, and when she goes home, maybe one day she'll pass it along to someone that she loves very much. But then her eyes meet mine and I can see it.

No. I feel my smile slide off my face as sadness takes hold of me. In those beautiful eyes, I can see the world, and, when she lets me in, I can read her like a book. Like right now. "The locket didn't work, did it?" When she doesn't respond, it just goes every farther to convince me, but I want to hear it. A real confirmation. "Katniss?"

"It worked," she tells me, keeping eye contact with me.

But I can see. My stomach sinks and I've never felt so disappointed in myself. Even with the locket, the pictures of her family and Gale, I failed. As I pick through the oysters and through dinner, in which we stuff ourselves, I just want to scream at myself. I thought that the locket would work. I really did.

While the sun starts to go down and we sit on the edge of the water, she takes my hand in hers and I wish more than anything that she didn't care about me at all. I never thought I would feel that way, not in this lifetime. Because I can feel it, I can feel her determination to keep me alive because she's such a good person, and I wish she wasn't.

I wish there was some way to make her understand that I won't have a home or future to go back to if she dies here, especially because I'll forever know that she died so I could live. The strongest weapon I had in my arsenal was the reminders of the people she loves, and if that didn't work, I don't think anything else I could say will.

So while her fingers interlock with mine, I take a deep breath and look at her profile. I generally don't like to oppose Katniss, because it gives me a bad feeling in my stomach. But now, knowing what I know, being where we are, I'm going to do what I have to do. I will die in this arena and she will go home if I have to kill my own self.

* * *

**Hello everyone! I'm back from vacation (clearly) and here you go!**


	27. Trouble Abounds

With the jungle nighttime engulfing us, my stomach gets tight in knots in anticipation. I just… in my head, I can see this wire thing working out all sorts of wrong, which leads to Katniss somehow being electrocuted or blown up or god knows what. Finnick looks off at one of the sides of the jungle, "It looks like it's about nine. Good time to head up to the tree?"

Katniss agrees, and as we start on our hike, almost at the tree, Beetee says, "I'm going to need a bit of assistance."

"I can help," I offer, even though I know virtually nothing about what he's doing. I have to figure no one else knows any more than I do.

Beetee shakes his head, his eyes narrowed in thought, "No, not you… Finnick, would you mind?"

As we reach the tree, everything seems to be going good. Beetee makes no complaints. I stand next to Katniss, and we both watch in mild confusion as Beetee does whatever he does with his wire and the tree trunk. Johanna keeps watch around us.

Right after we hear the wave go off in the distance, Beetee finagles a bit of wire into the exact place he wants it, and sits back, looking up at everyone. "Now, Johanna and Katniss will take the coil and unwind it all down through the jungle, lay it across the twelve o'clock beach, and leave the spool containing whatever wire is left to sink down. And then run back to the jungle. If you leave now, you should make it back safely."

Should? They _should_ make it back safely? I can't take that risk, not with Katniss' life at stake. "I want to go with them as a guard," I say, thinking that I can go into the water and leave the spool. That way, even if it's not timely, Katniss will still be safe.

Beetee disagrees, saying that I'm too slow and that he needs me here. But this plan is starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Granted, I am slower than both of the girls are, especially with my artificial leg and in the dark. And for all I know about the intricacies of this plan of his, he might need two extra pairs of hands to help him. But after knowing how Katniss is going to try to save me, meaning she's thinking she will die in this arena, I don't want to leave her out of my sight. Anything could happen to her in the next few hours. Anything.

I don't agree to his plan. With this awful dreadful feeling in my stomach, how could I? Looking around us into this dark jungle of terror, I just can't shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. Katniss turns to me, "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight."

And she leans in and presses her lips, soft and warm, against mine and as good as it feels, it does nothing to calm my nerves. But before I can get out another word, she and Johanna are heading out into the night.

Finnick stands beside me while I watch them as far as I can, and he says, "She's got Johanna with her. They'll be fine."

"Yeah. Right." They better be.

From behind me, Beetee says, "Peeta, would you mind taking a hold of the wire right there, so I can wiggle this one under it?"

With a deep breath, I kneel on the ground, "Sure." I take a hold of the wire and hold it in place, while Beetee orders Finnick to get some other wires and trail them as close to the force field as he can. Confused, certain I hadn't heard this part of the plan before, I look at the older man's face, "Why?"

He doesn't look at me when he answers, "Just to make sure we get as much electrical charge as possible going through the wire, Peeta. We might even have it go off as some sort of fuse if you will."

I won't, actually, because I don't understand what he means or why he needs to have the wires heading toward the force field as well as the water. But like I said before, I'm no electrical genius. We spend a while moving around these wires to Beetee's specific instruction. The more we work, the slightly better I feel about Katniss and Johanna. There has been no screams or canon sounding to indicate trouble. The wire is being pulled tighter and tighter, meaning they must be getting closer to the water.

We hear the ticking start, and Beetee brushes off his hands, "Eleven o'clock. They must be getting close to the water by now."

Out of nowhere, there's a knife flying in, and it cuts right through the wire. I have mine out and Finnick is on alert, but Enobaria comes charging through, swiping her knife at me and knocking me back with a cut on my chest. As I fall to the ground, she swings at Beetee, who slams his head against the tree and brings up his arm to fight her off, and she slices deep into the skin next to his elbow.

Finnick is on it, though and he grabs his trident and takes off after her, and I force myself up – my cut isn't deep – and kneel next to Beetee, who's bleeding pretty badly, and his eyes start going in and out of focus, "Come on, Beetee, stay with me. Look at me."

He manages to keep his eyes on me for a moment and whispers something that I don't catch. Leaning closer, putting my ear near his mouth I say, "What?"

"Katniss. Get Katniss." And his eyes flutter closed, but there's no canon. I can't worry about him now, can't worry about keeping him alive, not what he just made me realize:

Brutus and Enobaria split up. Enobaria came for us. Where did Brutus go? Panic has me hopping up, and I'm already running through the jungle, but when I reach the spot where the wire stops, there is no sign of life. Neither Johanna and Katniss are here, but there's blood smeared on the ground.

My one job here was to keep Katniss safe, to make sure she makes it home. And now she's out in the jungle, with Careers on her tracks. I try to ground my growing alarm by telling myself that there hasn't been any canons. She is still alive out here, wherever she is. Trying to keep a level head, I get down on my hands and knees and observe the blood on the ground.

There's no way of telling whether or not it belongs to Katniss, but if it does, it means she's out there, hurt. The best I can tell, the trail of blood slightly veers off to the left. I'm on my feet against and running in that direction, keeping my eyes peeled. I don't see her, but maybe she's hiding. That would be a Katniss-like thing to do, wouldn't it?

A survivor, as Katniss is, if they were hurt, would hide, right? But I need to find her, and she needs to know it's me coming, not anyone else like Brutus or Enobaria. "Katniss!" I call out as loud as I can.

Let me find you. Let me help you. "Katniss!"

I think I hear something. So I go still as stone and strain to listen, and all I hear is a thin and far away, "Peeta!"

But that's all I need. I charge in the direction I heard it coming from, screaming her name, "Katniss!" I'm coming. You're okay, and you will be and I'm coming.

When I hear running footsteps coming from beside me, I stop, and lead with my knife as I turn, and I _just miss_ slicing Chaff. He gives me a haggard smile, "Peeta," he breathes heavily and I take it he's been running to track me down, "If I still had that arm, you would've just about cut it off."

Despite my fear with Katniss, I feel my lips pull up in a smile. Same old Chaff. "Well, maybe you shouldn't sneak up on someone who's in a panic."

He lifts a brow, "Yeah, you and your panic. I could hear you screaming from a mile away. Are you trying to draw people to you?"

Chaff. Chaff is alive and, as far as I can see, well. Relief trickles through me, just that much, at seeing him, a face I know is familiar, alive. I lower my knife, but continue walking in the direction I heard Katniss' voice come from, "I need to get to Katniss."

He nods at me, "I'll come with you. I've been trying to track you guys down for days in this place. Been difficult. Goddamn Gamemakers went all out this year."

The way he grumbles the words make me think of Haymitch, and I get hit with this sense of loss. I'll miss him. It's then that I take a closer look and see him covered in blood – must have been the blood rain. We continue walking briskly toward where I heard her call me from, and I ask, "Did you figure out the arena?"

He shrugs, "Well, I figured out that bad shit happens in different places every so often." He looks around us, "I mostly stay here, with the lightning thing. Least dangerous thing I've seen here."

Unless you have something like Beetee's trap, I think, but don't say anything. And then I hear him grunt, and he falters in his steps. I stop and look, seeing the arm he still has start to spurt blood. "What the –"

But I don't need to finish the statement, because Brutus comes running out through the trees, attacking with another spear, jabbing it at Chaff, who steps in from of me and says, "Get out of here, Peeta!"

I can't leave him, though, any more than I could leave Haymitch. Chaff's only arm is basically unusable now, and he just dodges Brutus' spear, and I pull out my knife, trying to cut at Brutus, but Chaff, keep placing himself in front of me, "Go find Katniss," he grits out, and then grunts and gasps, falling down when Brutus' spear finds a home in his chest.

"Chaff!" His name breaks from my lips and I try to shake him, but I know it's no use. He was dead before he hit the ground. And when I look up and see Brutus' self-satisfied look, I feel something more than grief dig into me. I feel _anger_. Real, true, anger.

Brutus has out his spear, aiming it at me now, and even though I know last year's Peeta might have tried to run at this point, now it's different. Not only was Chaff a good guy, not only was he Haymitch's friend, but he and Brutus had known each other for years. I duck beneath his swipe with the spear and run forward in a tackle position my brothers taught me for sports when we were little, screaming, "You knew him! You mentored with him!"

And I ram into him with my shoulder, knocking him to the ground, landing on top of his chest. Before he can use his spear to knock me off, I rip it from his hands and toss it to the side, and as he looks up at me, snarling, I picture Chaff laying only feet away, and I think of the bloodbath, the other people he'd known for years, like Cecelia, who are dead, that he could have killed, and I lift my knife and drive it into his chest.

As soon as I hear the sickening sounds it makes while the metal finds home side of this man, I fall off of him, shaking, looking down at my own hands, terrified. My hands are covered in blood as I look down at Brutus' dead body. I killed a man. I just… I just killed a man. He's dead, his eyes looking up at me, but not really looking at me at all. I did that. I took the life out of his eyes.

I want to be sick, but I can't because these are the Hunger Games, and this is the whole reason I was brought here, to help end people's lived so the girl I love can go home. Two canons shoot off, and, for the first time in a Games that I'm a part of, I'm in the center of two bodies. For the first time, I actively murdered someone.

Still staring at Brutus' dead body, it's Katniss voice that I hear that brings me out of it, as she screams my name.

I feel like I was just snapped back into my purpose. Looking down one last time at Brutus, than at Chaff, I whisper, "I'm sorry," before I take off running again. Murderer of not, I have to get to Katniss.

And then the whole world explodes around me.

* * *

**The next chapter is the end of Burned! Also, I have not yet decided on the name of Mockingjay in this series, but I'll let everyone know in the next chapter.**


	28. It's the End of the World as You Know It

As everything blows up around me, trees erupt into flame, soil blows up every which way like there were bombs planted under there. But I don't think about that now. All I can think of is Katniss. Terror plants itself inside me, blooming around and strangling my heart.

I don't know where she is, but I just run in a direction, trying to get to her. "Katniss! Katniss!"

I just want her to answer me. I don't know what happened to cause this shift in the arena, but I need to know that whatever it was isn't hurting her. I keep running, a pain starting in my real leg, and my artificial leg is starting to jam up, but I keep running, screaming her name. Then I'm tackled from behind and brought down.

I roll around, and manage to buck off… "Johanna?"

Then I see her hands caked in blood and I jump on top of her, slamming her shoulders into the ground, "Where is Katniss? Where is she?"

She struggles against my hold, "I don't _know_. I took out her tracker you lovesick dumb ass, and now she's finally done what she needed to do, and we have to get to the hovercraft and get the fuck out of here!"

Confusion seeps into my anxiety and anger, "What are you talking about?"

She takes advantage of my confusion and wiggles her arms out of my hold, shoving me off of her, "The rebellion, Peeta. The one that Katniss is the head of. The one me, Finnick, Beetee, your mentor… nearly everyone you know is a part of. And the rebellion is on, Peeta. It's just come to a huge landing. Katniss just blew up this place, which we've been waiting for days to happen. Now we need to _find the hovercraft_."

She stands, and I do too. She starts running, and I follow her, screaming over the explosions as we go, "What about Katniss?" While also thinking about her words, _I knew it_.

"Stop asking me about her, for God's sake! She is fine as far as I know. She's probably already on the hovercraft." We keep running, and it takes all I have, the only thing keeping me going, is the desperate hope that Johanna is really leading me in the right way, and that her words that Katniss is already safe are true.

We keep running, and I'm looking around trying to search the trees and then –

I slam into Johanna, knocking us both to the ground. She's up and standing stone still, staring into the sky and I push myself onto my knees as I see what she's looking at. A smile takes over my face, as relief sinks in, "The hovercraft! Johanna, it's the hovercraft, and they came from the direction Katniss was in, so they must have her and now they'll get us."

She pushes her hands back at me, saying, "Shhhh."

Slowly, I push myself up, the smile falling from my face as confusion seeps in, "What? Why? I thought this was good news."

She shakes her head, "No. Peeta… I don't think that's _our_ hovercraft." It turns slightly in direction, and we see the side of it, which, for some reason makes her sure, and she turns to face me, "Definitely not the one we need." She grabs my arm and pulls, "Come on!"

So we're on the run again, this time not chasing a hovercraft but running from one. I know Johanna doesn't want to hear anything I have to say about Katniss, plus I don't have that much breath with me as I pant while we sprint, but I wonder where she is. My heart skips a beat when I think that they could have her. They might have her, and they won't spare her life.

We run side by side, not with any direction, except for trying to get away from the hovercraft. It's spotted us and has been following us, gaining on us as we run through the trees. I keep going, one foot after another. Real foot, fake foot, real foot, fake foot. "Do you think we can actually outrun them?" I ask Johanna.

But she doesn't answer, and when I turn to look at her, she's not next to me. I come to a stop and turn around, seeing her about twenty feet back, face first on the ground, pushing herself up, screaming at me, "I tripped. Keep going, Peeta! _Go_!"

Except the hovercraft is coming to a stop right above her, the bottom opening. I can't leave her there. Did we become _friends_ in this arena? I wouldn't say that. But I would say that she helped keep Katniss safe, and that's the most I would ask of anyone. I would say she's a tough girl who has earned respect.

And I would say that I can't just let the guy climbing down from that hovercraft take her. I run to her and grab her arm, helping her up. As soon as she's on her feet, she shoves at me, "I told you to keep going!"

"And I'm not someone who can just leave you here to be taken for god knows what!" The Peacekeeper, followed by several more, are now dropping from the ladder, and this time it's me who grabs her arm, "We have to go. We'll get out of here together."

We're running again, but this time we're being followed by huge Peacekeepers, yelling at us to stop. Both of us are breathing so heavily, that the only thing I can hear over the labored breathing is the pounding feet of the men behind us.

We're now going in the direction of the beach, and Johanna puts on a burst of speed, gasping, "We'll get out from the trees, and maybe we'll be able to see the other hovercraft!"

As soon as our feet hit the sand, Johanna slows down, and we watch as another hovercraft flies in the opposite direction. Quietly, she says, "Shit."

We can hear them come up behind us, and I feel dread take over. I whisper words that I hope could make her last moments somewhat funny, as I feel they are something she might say to someone in the face of death, "It's been real, Johanna."

She even manages to come up with a dark laugh, "Peeta, we should _hope_ this is the end. It won't be."

Arms grab me from behind, the same with her, and it's like the arms were made from sheer steel, and they don't budge as much as I try to struggle. It seems the hovercraft has followed us as we've been running, because within moments, my hands are on the ladder and are glued down, and I'm being taken up, right after Johanna.

All of my muscles are strung tight, and I'm terrified of what I'm going to find in store for myself up there, and, even worse, what will be in store for Katniss if she's up there. When we get pulled up, someone immediately picks up Johanna and carts her away, and I try to reach for her, but a Peacekeeper grips me by the shoulders and throws me down, smashing me onto the floor.

"What do you know?" He screams at me while pain reverberates down my spine.

I try to look around the room and while they drag away Johanna, the next one they pull up the ladder is an unconscious Enobaria and there's no one else. Katniss must have been rescued. She's safe. She's safe.

I only have a moment to feel the relief before another man comes up in his Peacekeeper uniform and one of them comes up and grabs my arm and the one holding me down takes a hold of the other, together, they drag me up and strap me onto a table. Then a scream that I know is Johanna's ripples through the air, and these two are in my face again, yelling.

"Where is Katniss Everdeen? Where is she?" One of them who is in my viewpoint asks.

Struggling against their restraints, I grunt out, "I don't know."

A doctor comes out of a different room and walks toward us, and the Peacekeeper above me slams his elbow into the side of my face, asking, "Are you sure you don't know?"

I see stars and manage to take in a few breaths as I can _feel_ the bruises already start to form, "I don't know where she is." Before he can beat me anymore, I add on, "And even if I did, I would rather die than tell you."

Then the doctor appears in front of me, and shakes his head, "You quite possibly will wish you were dead soon."

He hold up a shot with clear liquid filling in in front of my eyes, when his face clicks in my memory. "Dr. Cavanaugh," I gasp out when the Peacekeeper takes a tight hold on my arm, "Dr. Cavanaugh, it's me, Peeta." It's dumb, useless, and I know he knows who I am, but he was the one who made me my artificial leg. He was the one who taught me how to use it, who patched me up after the Games last year.

Then he injects something into my arm that makes it feel like liquid fire is spreading through my veins. Twisting in agony, pulling desperately at these damn restraints, Dr. Cavanaugh looks at me through his glasses, "Now, where is Katniss?"

Didn't they hear me? Don't they _know_ I wouldn't say anything of the sort even if I knew? But then the fire in my blood gets to my head and before I scream with the pain, it turns to something new. It feels nice, like my entire body is fizzling, resting on bubbles. My mind is going fuzzy, and suddenly, I want to tell them everything I've ever known.

The doctor stands over me once more, "Is there anything you want to tell me about the whereabouts of Katniss Everdeen now?"

Bright lights appear in front of my eyes and everything is good. Everyone is happy, and I hear my own voice sound light when words just start to slip out of my mouth. "Katniss Everdeen lives in the Seam. Have you looked there? She lives with her mom."

Then the Peacekeeper with the really quite blindingly white uniform is back, and he raises the butt of a – woah is that a gun? – "What are you doing?" I hear myself ask.

All he does is glare at me. Really, did I do anything wrong? I don't think so. But why is he mad? What's going on? I feel hands on my arm again and then there's another pinch feeling from another injection. Then there's nothing.

I come to in flashes, hearing words, sounding like I'm under water, and then I feel like I'm moving, but I know I'm not moving myself. Finally, with my head feeling like it's too heavy to even lift, I open my eyes. Dr. Cavanaugh is walking with his back to me, and on the other side of my little medical cot thing is a man in a suit.

The reason I feel like I'm moving is because I'm being wheeled around while still strapped into this thing. I concentrate on what they're saying when the man in the suit asks, "You're sure he doesn't know anything?"

The doctor answers, "I'm absolutely positive. I injected him with the serum, and he let nothing slip. Have you spoken to Dr. Beggary about Johanna Mason? Does she know anything?"

Johanna. Is she okay? The man in the suit shakes his head, "She's not talking. The serum was given to her, and she was immediately loopy. Started going on about her house in District Seven and Beggary had her knocked out to just get her mouth to stop running."

Cavanaugh nudges his head in my direction, "What are we going to do with him? He's virtually useless. He doesn't know anything."

Yes, what are you going to do with me? The man in the suit looks back at me and meets my wide eyes, and gives me a slow, evil grin that makes my stomach twist painfully. "Oh, President Snow still has some plans for him."

* * *

**So there we have it. Catching Fire comes to a close, and I want to thank everyone who has followed it, and especially everyone who reviews it. My version of mockingjay, to be named _Real or Not Real_, will have it's first chapter posted on September first. Stay tuned!**


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